


off the record

by Pinkmink



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Doctor Castiel, F/F, Gabriel is a corgi, Infertility, M/M, Masturbation, No mpreg, One night stand to enemies to friends to lovers, Pregnancy, Smut, alternative universe, its a wild ride, men in yoga pants, obligatory video game scene because Charlie is in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-29 01:39:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12620244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmink/pseuds/Pinkmink
Summary: Life has a way of throwing you off your intended path. For Dean, falling for a stranger with sharp eyes and a secret was a rare moment of selfishness. For Cas, that same moment offered salvation from a pre decided life plan. Nothing about the two of them together makes sense, and the timing couldn’t possibly be worse.But love carves it’s own path.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? This fic has been a journey. I set out about a year ago to stretch my writing legs and try an AU for the first time. Largely because I want to eventually write regular fiction. And then I went to Burcon 2016. The lovely Felicia Day was there, and my fandom bestie (and beta for this fic) Rosie and I had a photo op with her. As we got to the front of the line, we noticed underneath that billowing scarf - she was pregnant! Of course, it would be a few more months before she announced it publicly but - it got me thinking about writing a pregnancy fic. I’ve always wanted to write Jo/Charlie - and thus, this fic was born. I decided to tackle it as my first DCBB, and it has been a wonderful (if stressful) challenge. 
> 
> On a personal note - this fic will deal with infertility. I say that now as I myself am infertile, and want to call out the trigger warning early. That said, it was incredibly cathartic to write. If anyone reading this is in the same boat I am, I hope you find it cathartic to read as well.
> 
> Thank you to my betas Izzy and [rosie_berber](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rosie_berber/pseuds/rosie_berber) for their support and help with this fic. I was writing this for so long without any feedback I thought I was going nuts! But they were totally amazing!
> 
> Also, thank you to my artist Moonlight Knight who did a fantastic job bringing this story to life! You can find the beautiful art for this fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12616340)!
> 
> I truly hope all of you enjoy it, and please leave a comment if you do!

It was, like most of his life, a contradiction - a planned night of impulse and hurried moments of pleasure.

There was an excited sense of electricity, raising his hair on edge. Dean stood in it, feeling the rush of the unknown thrum through his veins. Tonight was  _ his _ night, dammit.

After all, it was -

“Last night on earth!” he repeated, the words light on his tongue, spoken directly to a set of small yet deliciously perky breasts peeking above a tight red tank top. Ok, he  _ was _ speaking to a person - a woman, as a matter of fact. Kinda hard to miss that fact as he looked up through his eyelashes, following the pathway of jet black hair that started just below her collarbone to a set of rich, dark eyes. She looked like something out of a Van Morrison song.

“Mhm.” Her plush lips pursed, unimpressed, as she raised a mostly empty glass of red wine to sip. Lipstick stains tracked along the edge. “I’ll bet you say that to  _ all _ the girls.”

He raised his broad hands, a feigning ignorance.“Come on, that ain’t fair. Tomorrow my life is  _ over _ as I know it.” He leaned forward to search her eyes - Christ, he could fall right into their depths if he wasn’t careful. “Doesn’t that make you want to do something crazy?”

She pinched her lips to the side. “Sounds like one hell of a line to me, buddy, and I’ve heard some doozies.”

The Brown Eyed Girl was not impressed.

Then again, Dean wasn’t trying all  _ that _ hard.

She walked away and left him with a nearly empty pint of beer, and another notch mark on his napkin. That’s three times that line hasn’t worked tonight. But he was feeling too exhausted to be creative and besides - it was a numbers game, right? Ask a hundred people, statistically speaking, one of them is going to buy what he’s selling. Use it enough times, it was bound to work.

And it needed to work. He needed, desperately, to feel irresponsible for one last night.

So he looked up and over the sea of bodies in the bar. Every leather backed stool was taken, some doubled up, with loud, laughing patrons. The city of Dallas was generally diverse enough to give him a little variety to choose from, but it seemed his options tonight were “Big Hair”, “Bigger Hair” or “The bigger the hair, the closer to Jesus”.

Or a few good ol’ boys, wearing their daddy's beat up cowboy hat and a thick sense of latent repression. Of course, it had been more than a handful of years since Dean had given the other half of his sexuality free reign. It wasn’t like Texas was overflowing with like-minded men.

He sighed and ran his finger along the edge of the glass, contemplating another drink. According to his current score, he was fresh out of “charms” - after all, Brown Eyed girl had been his third. Still, the night was young and hell, he sure as shit was. Plenty of years to live it up,  _ then _ settle down, find the right person, start a family, all that white picket fence crap.  _ Years. _ What was he worried about anyway?

The bottles on the opposite end of the bar beckon him like sirens, back lit against a brick wall, popping shades of amber. Switching from beer to liquor now was risky - wasn’t there some adage about that? Something about never being sicker?

Sounds like future Dean’s problem. Present Dean couldn’t give a crap.

The bartender finally made his way back to him. He was older, portly and harried as he struggled to pull open another bottle of red wine. “What can I get - son of a bitch!” he cursed as his hand flew back, taking exactly half the cork with it. “That's the second one tonight!”

“You can always saber it.” Dean chuckled. At only nine at night, the bartender looked already sick of this shit as he faked a pinched smile.

“I’d pay good money to see that in a bar like this.”

The grumbled joke came from his left. Dean huffed a laugh, turning to retort, “Actually, I happen to have a sword in the back-”

But suddenly Dean didn’t have enough saliva in his mouth to finish the sentence. Because, and he was reasonably certain this wasn’t the three pints of beer talking, he came face to face with the most beautiful man he’d ever seen.

Now, granted, Dean’s bisexuality was a fickle beast. He liked to describe himself as about thirty percent gay, and seventy percent straight. And that thirty percent was usually limited to unobtainable but smoking hot men like his Doctor Sexy or Chris Evans. It meant that he was excessively picky about the men he actually hooked up with. So much so, that his “sister from another mister,” a gold star lesbian, after setting him up on yet another unsuccessful dude date, had declared she was benching him from playing on the queer team  _ years _ ago.

But woah - this guy was a sight to behold. He was the very model of completely careless beauty. Dark, messy hair and Dean’s fingers twitched, wanting to run his fingers through and tug. A strong jaw line, highlighted by perfectly grown-in three day old stubble - the kind of facial hair lesser men would kill for, and this lazy bastard probably just forgot to shave. Full lips, pulled to a smirk that made Dean want to kiss it off his face. And kind, crinkly eyes. It was almost too dim to make out a color but if he had to guess, they were probably also amazing because this guy was the definition of perfection.

And probably best seen first thing in the morning.

Only one way to find out.

“...of my car.” Dean finished. “Never know when a saber might come in handy.”

The man nodded, clearly mocking him. “Oh certainly. You must be a boy scout then, if you're so prepared.”

“Oh, I’m  _ always _ prepared.” Dean laid it on  _ thick _ . No mistaking his sentence for anything than a blatant come on. He prepared himself for the usual “no homo” vibe he could read immediately on those straight types, once they figured him out. Instead the handsome stranger raised an eyebrow and kept the smirk. So either this guy was at least a little bit gay, or he was completely oblivious. Dean crossed his fingers for option A and continued.

“Dean,” he said, sticking his hand out for a shake. “And it’s my last night on earth.”

“Really?” The man shook his hand, his fingers strong and surprisingly soft around Deans. “And what happens tomorrow?”

“Not nearly as important as what happens tonight.” Dean winked, feeling a slight tinge of guilt - that wasn’t  _ exactly _ true. Regardless, it had the desired effect, as the man straightened up in his seat.

“I’m Castiel,” he said. “And you’re terribly bold.”

“What do I have to lose?”

“Dignity?” Castiel suggested with half smile. Then as an aside, under his breath, “And by taking the chance that I wasn’t somewhat queer myself, possibly some teeth?”

Dean felt a blush rise on his throat. “Now who’s bold?”

“You started it.” Castiel smiled and motioned back to the bartender who had seemed to calm down after the red wine fiasco. And by calm down, he means just chuck the entire bottle of wine in the garbage and start all over. “I'll have a Bulliet and ginger with bitters, neat - and my friend here will have-”

“Same - actually no, throw an ice cube in there. Thanks.” Dean turned back, stretching his fingers across the dark wood of the bar. “Whiskey drinker, huh?”

“Not usually.” Castiel tracked the bartender, eyes darting smartly as if it was his responsibility to make sure the guy was doing a good job. “Normally I would have gladly consumed that house red he just threw away - I'm not exactly known for my excellent taste.”

“Well clearly that's not true, or you wouldn't be talkin’ to me.”

Castiel's eyes rolled and he turned back to face Dean. “Is humility known to be a particular virtue of yours?”

“Being virtuous wasn’t really on the agenda tonight.”

In Dean's mind they were doing a tango. Castiel was allowing himself to be spun around whilst Dean presumably took the lead, pulling him across the floor. Strong hands wrapped around the small of his back, maybe pulled so close he could feel Castiel's breath against his neck. But something in the way Castiel's lips pulled at the corner told Dean he should be prepared for the tables to suddenly turn - to be suddenly dipped, spun and lead exactly where Castiel wanted them to go.

And that thought made his toes curl in his steel toed boots.

Bulliet burned down his throat and sat hot in his stomach. It made him flush. “So why the sudden switch to whiskey?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “What happens tomorrow?”

Dean paused to consider as the game switched -  _ now _ they were playing chicken. I'll show you mine if you show me yours. This was the point in the night where they decide what kind of chat it's going to be. Are they looking for something real? Is Dean going to divulge his personal life - tomorrow's life changing decision, what he does for a living, what his childhood dreams were, his favorite color? Or does they just want a night of what he hopes to be fantastic sex with no strings?

He narrowed his eyes at Castiel as he assessed. The man was hot as hell but - after tomorrow, Dean wasn’t exactly  _ available _ anymore. Not that he’d really stopped to consider how complex his dating life was going to be after he agreed to do it but - nevermind. Choice was made. No turning back.

Time to go with plan B.

“How about, I don't answer your question, you don't answer mine, and we just have fun tonight?” Dean offered with more bravado than he felt.

Castiel seemed to consider the question as he pulled back from the bar, turning his body to face Dean's. He lowered his voice, and it sounded like warm honey. “I feel I should confess that isn't normally an activity I engage in. But,” he looked up with a dangerous eyebrow, “you make a very compelling argument.”

“Look the truth is - me neither. Not usually that guy.” Dean raised the glass and took a sip. The burn lingered on his lips as he licked them. “But I just need one last night of irresponsibility, you know?”

“I think I know what you mean.” Castiel shrugged, and covertly reached a hand out under the bar. He set it gently on Dean's leg, spreading his fingers across his knee cap. His grip was deliciously strong. “Doesn't hurt that you're very attractive.”

A pulse shot straight to Dean's groin. He twisted his legs together a little to ease the ache, stop his jeans tenting before it started. Cocking his head, he nodded towards the bottles lining the wall. “What do you say we get one more round and then you come back to my place?”

Castiel pulled his shoulders back a little with caution, but didn't move his hand. “Just to be clear, you aren't a serial killer or anything? No sordid sex dungeon you are trying to drag me away to?”

Dean could watch the way Castiel’s lips formed the word “sex” all day, like it was a secret between the two of them. “I mean, I've been known to be a little kinky, but that's a hard no. Completely outside of my usual fantasies.” Dean felt down and ran his fingers along soft knuckles, winding up past his wrist to his forearm. He felt a jolt from the hand, goosebumps trailing like the tide after his touch.

“And picking up a strange guy in an otherwise incredibly straight Texas bar - is that among those usual fantasies of yours?”

Dean leaned in, pressing his nose against Castiel's temple. The almost stranger smelled so good, a little like ozone and lemon. He could feel the other man shudder against him, and Castiel grasped his leg tighter.

“If they look like you, you bet your ass it is.”

* * *

 

When you're fairly blitzed and have one hundred and eighty pounds of solid, beautiful man rutting against your ass and reaching under your shirt from behind you to tweak your nipples, it's exceedingly difficult to fit a tiny key in a tiny hole.

And no, if what Dean was feeling pressing into him was any indication, that isn't a metaphor.

“Ugh-fuck! Come on!” Dean moved the key against the door handle blind, as his head was now thrown back against Castiel's shoulder.

“Perhaps if you focused, Dean, we could continue this inside.” Castiel turned his head and latched himself to the apex of Dean's jaw, starting on a mark that Dean would be seeing for a week.

“Yea, I -uh. Yea.” With tremendous effort Dean looked down to the handle. In the dim of the porch light he could make the lock out well enough and then finally, it slipped right in. He grunted as it opened, jumping inside and grabbing Castiel's hand.

The living room was pitch black, but thankfully he knew it well enough to avoid any potential hazards along the way, even as drunk as he was. Castiel didn't have that luxury. He yelped as his shin collided with the coffee table.

“Dean? Is that you?”

Both men paused in their tracks, Dean's hand still clinging to Castiel's in the darkness. The sleepy voice came from the other side of the wall.

“Yeah Sammy, just me. Go back to sleep!” he called back. Castiel cursed under his breath behind him.

“Just my brother,” Dean whispered with a chuckle. Sam was such a hard sleeper, he probably wouldn’t even remember that he woke up tomorrow. Which is great - he didn’t exactly want his brother to know about this evening’s activities. Too many questions.

The hallway thankfully had far less hazards than the living room. Safely inside his bedroom, he turned to shove Castiel against the closed door. He crowded his space, nipping at the stubble trailing down his neck. Dean couldn't see the expression on his face in the darkness, but could feel the contented hum through his skin. “How do you want to do this?”

Castiel laughed dryly, attempting to keep his voice down. “I'd at least like to see you. Do you have any lights in your house?”

“You don't want this quick and dirty and under the cover of night?” But even as he replied he pulled away swiftly, turning on the small lamp at his bedside. The room flooded with soft yellow. It brought out the shadows behind Castiel's cheekbones. If it was possible, he looked even more predatory in the low light.

“I want to see the look in your eyes when you come for me,” Castiel said, unblinking.

Dean's stomach fluttered. Hands twitched at his side for purchase. His nether regions stood at attention as if to say “awaiting orders, sir!” And yet he stood, because damned if he wasn't going to at least attempt to play it cool when the hottest guy he's ever seen was throwing lines like that his way.

“Not if I make you come first.” He grimaced at his own reply - why was he making this a contest? The goal is not to come the fastest! He sucks at words. Words are the worst, anyway. He’s much better at the other stuff.

Two steps forward and he was pressed against that scruffy neck again, sucking where it met his collarbone. Wait - had they even kissed yet? This was going so fast, and the haze of booze was making him feel like he was watching his own actions on a five second delay. He made an effort to pull back and find Castiel's eyes.

Blue. They were blue like the sky heading towards sunset.

He gazed at them for a solid moment before Dean leaned forward and kissed Castiel gently. It felt right, to take this moment slow, though he couldn’t say why. Kissing his mouth was different than rutting against him or biting his earlobe, like he'd done in the cab ride home. Castiel's lips were spicy, the taste of bitters still lingering. He kissed back with a bridled passion, as if he was working very hard to restrain himself. From the way he pressed the pads of his fingers against Dean's sides, he very likely was.

But Dean wasn't exaggerating when he thought, quite honestly, it was the best kiss of his life.

And that did not bode well for his “one night stand” plan.

Needing to break their unexpectedly tender moment, he grasped at the tan trenchcoat around Castiel’s shoulders and jerked it to the ground. Dean’s flannel followed. Then Castiel’s sweater. Then Dean’s belt. Then Castiel’s shoes. Each article of clothing sped up their movements, frantic in stripping each other down to their boxers.

Dean pushed at his bare chest with a smirk and Castiel toppled onto the bed. (Quietly, Dean was extra glad he’d changed the sheets earlier in hopeful anticipation, as the light smell of fresh laundry briefly filled the room.) A soft dusting of dark hair grew thicker as he followed it down a toned stomach.

“It’s not fair that you’re this hot  _ and _ in fantastic shape,” Dean whined as Castiel pushed himself further up onto the bed. Dean poked at the softness of his own belly, barely there but starkly contrasted. “You aren’t some kind of vegan or something, are you?”

“God no. Come here,” Castiel said. He might as well have had a string tied from that finger that beckoned directly to Dean’s erection. Soft memory foam left imprints of his hands and knees as he crawled across and met Castiel’s lips once again. He felt as if he was completely under Castiel’s spell - the man could ask him to get up and make him a sandwich and then stand on his own head, and Dean would as long as he got another few seconds with Castiel looking at him like he wanted to eat him alive.

They lay their bodies flush with each other but no hands had yet grasped things that would bring this evening to a swift close. Which was weird, because though Dean hadn’t ever had a one night stand before, he had at least some experience with more casual sex (a two or three night stand, if you will) and they were fairly singularly purposed - to get each other off and get on with their day. Neither man seemed compelled to do so - at least Dean wasn’t. He let his mouth explore the curves of Castiel’s chest, biting at a nipple, pleased at how he hissed at the contact. Tasting the saltiness of his skin. Letting his fingers trail down his ribs. The man was quite simply delicious, and he took his time appreciating the work of art below him.

“Can I touch you?” Castiel whispered finally.

There seemed to be an undercurrent of power play between them - just when Dean was taking control, Castiel seemed to want to take it back. Truly, that wasn’t unusual between two men - Charlie would call it machismo and maybe she was right. What was strange was how Dean gave it up, didn’t fight it, nodded as Castiel hooked a finger in his boxers, dragging them down his thighs. He didn’t feel threatened by the switch - he welcomed it, in fact. Knowing that if it got too intense, if he needed to take control again, Castiel would surrender himself to Dean. How does that happen with someone you’ve known all of three hours?

Whiskey always did get him thinking too much.

No matter - all thought stopped anyway as soon as Castiel had a firm grip on him.

They switched positions - he lay on his back, his bare ass situated between Castiel’s uncrossed legs and writhed while he was worked. It was a little unconventional, but it made him feel like he was on display. Those blue eyes were intense and damn, clearly he  _ did _ want to watch Dean come. It was obvious in the way he cataloged his every move, watching his eyes flutter, or the way he bit his lip. Dean had never felt so observed during sex before. He was the center of Castiel’s world and he couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by the attention. The firm erection caught between Dean’s hip and Castiel’s stomach shook a little with every movement, and for a moment Dean reached out to it, wanting to give a fraction of the pleasure he was receiving.

“Later,” Castiel said, batting his hand away, and kept working. “You are absolutely magnificent like this, stretched over my lap. Don’t distract me.”

Well, alright.

So Dean gripped at the sheets instead. And then at Castiel’s shoulders, bringing him down to meet his lips. He couldn’t stand not to touch him, not to be smothered by him. They were at a somewhat awkward angle, but Cas still managed to move his other hand, swiping soft fingers across Dean’s balls.

“Oh Jesus,” Dean gasped. “I will not last long if you keep that up.”

“That’s a shame,” Castiel mused, smirk never leaving his lips. “Because I do like watching you twitch like that.”

Dean groaned as he did it again, then cupped him and pulled gently. The heat curled at Dean’s spine and he arched his back, thrusting against the hand that still gripped him tightly. 

“Castiel - Cas -  _ please _ …”

The dark chuckle in response to Dean losing his mind was hotter than sin. His hand, blissfully covered in lube, increased its speed, twisting a little at the top. Dean’s thighs tightened and with another gentle pull at his balls Dean was lost, painting his own stomach and Castiel’s hand and biting his lip to keep from howling. All the while his eyes locked onto Castiel’s who studied him, completely enraptured, his mouth agape and panting. It was  _ intense _ .

They didn’t break eye contact as he came down. Castiel’s broad, swollen lips finally parted to a grin as he watched Dean try to catch his breath.

“You must think I’m very odd for wanting to watch you,” he said. “Good thing this is your last night on earth, or else I’d be really worried what you thought of me.”

“Good thing,” Dean replied, his tongue feeling heavy.

Castiel finally looked up from him and around the room. “You have tissues, or-?”

Dean blinked, coming to his senses. “Uh, yeah just - wait. We’re not done here. Are you done? We can be done, if you want to be done. But I wasn’t done. I mean, done with you.” Great, it seems with an orgasm, what little competency with the spoken word Dean had before just shot straight out of his dick.

Castiel flashed him a shy smile anyway. “I don’t want to impose.”

“Christ, are you kidding?” Dean sat up, kissing him for a moment before moving away. He reached behind him at the Kleenex box he kept beside his bed, taking a few out and handing them to Cas. He wiped his stomach and tossed them carefully back into the little waste basket by his bed.

When he turned back, it was like a switch flipped. Every nerve that had been soothed and chilled by coming was electrified again with the sight of him and quite suddenly Dean remembered - he had glorious work to do.

He pushed Castiel against the bed and straddled him, bending down to kiss. Their lips were messy and hot, a lazy passion starting to rekindle. Castiel was already hard against his hip and Dean wasted no more time taking him heavily in hand, giving a few quick strokes. Castiel hissed underneath him.

“Sensitive?” Dean murmured, nosing at his ear. God, he smelled amazing. Dean could drown in him.

“A bit - it’s been a while.”

Dean pulled back to meet his eye. Something in the other man's tone made it seem like there was a story there, but Dean did not prod. After the care Castiel had shown his body in the last few hours, it just seemed polite. Besides, tonight was not about questions, and so he didn’t. Instead he gave a little nod as something relaxed on Castiel’s face.

“Ok. I’ll take it slow.”

And so he took his time, gently building Castiel up. It wasn’t exactly like it was a hardship - watching blue disappear behind black pupils. Parted lips and heaving breath. His body twitching as Dean ran a thumb through pre come.

But then Castiel’s eyes would narrow for just a moment, like he was thinking of something. He’d let out little noises of enjoyment, but they were somewhat muted. Dean could tell he was holding himself back.

“Let go, Cas,” Dean said gently, feeling a sudden tenderness. He brushed a finger across Cas’ bottom lip. “I want you here, with me.”

His words spoke to something inside Castiel, and his cloudy eyes refocused on Dean’s. He sat up with an almost violent vigor, wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist and aggressively twisting his other hand into his hair. Castiel pulled him down to kiss, wanton and needy.

Dean could feel Cas getting close, his movements frantic as he grasped at Dean’s body, kissing the skin he could reach. Dean worked his hand faster in the cramped space until finally he felt Castiel moan against his mouth and a warmth spread between them. He kept stroking him through it, Castiel’s head finally falling back against the pillows as he gasped for breath.

“You don’t know how much I needed that,” he whispered, his eyes closed tightly.

“I think you’re onto something with this watching thing. That was pretty awesome.” Dean took his unsoiled hand and ran it through Castiel’s dark hair. He hummed a little into the touch and opened his eyes again, much more relaxed. “You ok?”

“Better now,” he murmured with a little chuckle.

They untangled themselves gingerly. Dean reached over and cleaned them both up, taking care to clean Castiel’s cock while he lay back, breathing and watching him with eyes that seemed to smile. This wasn’t something he’d normally do during casual sex - heck, it was more intimate than he’d been with almost every partner he’d ever had. But something about caring for Cas in this moment just felt - right. So he followed his gut, for once.

“So, if uh, you want to spend the night, you can - don’t feel like you have to take off, or anything. I know this is just a casual thing,” Dean said, trying not to impart how badly he wanted Cas to stick around. “I’m beat, and you’re beat, it's cold outside and it’s warm in here.”

“Another compelling argument.” Cas smiled warmly, wriggling a little to get himself under the covers, and pulling the one’s beside him down for Dean. “You’d make a good lawyer.”

Dean reached over to turn out his light. “Well, I am a master debater.”

“Oh, wow. That was bad. Good thing I’m leaving in the morning.”

“Good thing.”

In the dark Castiel turned his body to Dean’s and threw his arm over his chest. Ok, generally speaking, cuddling with your last-night-on-earth-stand is frowned upon. But it  _ was _ cold outside. And Sam had once again forgotten to turn on the heater before he went to sleep. And Castiel was like a man sized furnace, burning on one side of his body. Dean wrapped his arm around Castiel and pulled him close.

“I’m also a cunning linguist.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

* * *

 

Turns out Dean’s suspicions were correct - Cas’s eyes were more stunning in the morning light. A clear, ocean of blue. And positively sparking as they blinked open. Not like Dean had been staring at him while he slept or anything. That would be creepy. In fact, just to make sure there was no misconception, Dean gave a huge fake yawn and stretched as Castiel finally stirred.

“Hey,” Castiel said, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

Dean rolled over and hit a button on his phone. “Almost nine.”

Castiel groaned, sitting up like a zombie rising from a grave. “Shit. I have to go.”

And the warm, intimate morning received an unwelcome bucket of cold water. That's right, now he remembered - this was supposed to be a hook up, nothing more. Another notch in Dean Winchester's belt. A notch he wanted to circle and highlight and put gold stars on, draw an arrow to it with the words “Best Sex Ever!” above it.

But still - just a notch.

“Uh, yeah. Me too. Busy day.” Dean lied quickly. Then realized it wasn’t a lie at all, as he remembered what he was scheduled to do today. He sat up himself and got out of bed, swinging his bare legs out of the warm cocoon they’d created. The air in his room was incredibly chilly, which only made the moment seem more cruel.

They both pulled on clothing quickly, making small talk about unimportant things like, the color of Dean’s flannel and how the week had gone by so fast. In the end, Dean walked him outside because that felt like the right thing to do.

“You want me to call you a cab?” he asked, fumbling for the phone in his pocket.

“That won’t be necessary, I texted an Uber when I got up.” Castiel looked at his phone. “He’s a minute away.”

“Oh,” Dean answered.

Just the most awkward minute of his life.

“So, I enjoyed myself.” Castiel said, a slight blush to his cheeks. He didn’t meet Dean’s eye.

“Me too.”

“Look, I’d like to give you my number.” A red Honda pulled up into Dean’s driveway. Castiel looked up and smiled, warm and gentle. “Just in case it doesn’t end up being your last day on earth?”

Dean smirked and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Sure - as long as I can give you mine. You know, in case you ever switch back to red wine.

“Deal.”

They swapped phones and entered their own numbers. When Castiel handed Dean his phone back, he noticed that he’d entered the contact as “Cas.”

“You called me that, last night,” Cas clarified as Dean raised an eyebrow. “I liked it.”

Dean leaned forward and cupped Castiel’s elbow, giving him a gentle kiss on the side of his mouth. His lips were dry and soft, and the kiss was brief, but the taste of Castiel lingered.

“See ya around, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

* * *

 

Dean had been staring at the contact on his phone for the better part of a half hour when his brother emerged from his room, his long hair shot in thirty different directions. A small corgi trailed behind him and straight to their back door expectantly.

“Morning,” Sam grumbled as shuffled after the dog. “Coffee?”

“Yeah, I’ll get it.”

Dean finally moved from his spot on the couch towards the kitchen, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“Big day today,” Sam called from the back porch.

“Yep.”

His body on autopilot, he put the grounds in the dispenser and pressed the little red button. He stared at is as it churned and hummed, the water warming quickly. He wasn’t snooty about a lot of things in life, but a good coffee maker was essential. Tiny drips of caffeinated liquid dispensed too slowly. At least they were sure to clear his head.

Gabriel came bounding back inside, having emptied his bladder and decided that the too crisp spring Dallas air was not to his liking. He sat in front of his food dish, sitting empty to the side of the fridge, and looked up at Dean. His stubbed tail gave a wiggle.

“Don’t look at me, man - I ain’t your daddy.” Dean shrugged as his brother entered the kitchen.

“Yeah, but after today - you’re gonna be  _ someone’s _ daddy!” Sam smiled. He dispensed exactly a cup full of crunchy dog food - which Gabriel gave a courtesy sniff before inhaling. “Well, sorta, in a way - anyway you ready to make your ‘deposit’?”

“Am I ready to masturbate into a cup? Yea Sam, I think I’ll manage.” Dean said, yanking the coffee pot away and filling his mug. The warm elixir filled his senses as he took a deep breath and his first sip. Not surprisingly, it didn’t make his thoughts stop the constant playback of the last fourteen hours, and the breathtaking blue eyes that he should have made pancakes for.

“Well sure, it’s just masturbating today - but as long as it takes, then nine months from now, Charlie’s gonna pop out a little-”

“You know what? Drop it.” Difficult as it was to chug hot coffee, Dean drained his mug in short order. “I gotta go get ready.”

Of course, what he really needed to do was go get his head on straight. He couldn’t exactly be moping about Castiel when he had a very important, life altering masturbation session ahead of him.

Because today was the day that Dean was going to help Charlie and Jo get pregnant. Nine months from now, there was going to be a little niece or nephew in his life that had his eyes, or his nose, or his chin. And he was certain with that little life altering event, Dean was going to officially become big fat complicated situation that no one, past a one night stand, would  _ actually _ want to commit to.

But damned if he didn't want to ask Castiel on a date anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Overhead florescent lights harmonized with the buzzing pitch in his head. There was a lingering taste of bitter coffee on his tongue, and he wondered for the third time that day if he should have stopped for more. It might have helped with the slight hangover. He pressed his cold fingers to his temples, trying to give just enough pressure to dull the noise, but stop short of squashing his head like a melon.

The room itself was unsuspecting and bland. It looked like just another doctor's office - except that what you did behind closed doors was, well, not exactly medical. The receptionist looked very busy in an otherwise empty office, shuffling papers around her desk. She was separated from the lobby by a wall and a little window, looking a bit like a teller. He supposed that’s why it was called a sperm “bank.” Only he was about to make a deposit of a different sort.

Maybe more whiskey would have been a better call than coffee.

At least he was alone, sitting on a waiting room couch so worn out it practically swallowed him. And thank God, because he could hardly meet the receptionist straying eyes, let alone those of another man there to do -  _ that _ . The entire event felt shameful, despite its altruistic nature. He took a deep breath to remind himself; this was something he wanted to do. This was a thing he was actually looking forward to.

In truth, it had taken him nearly two months to be sitting in that chair on a Friday morning. Months of debating with himself, talking to his brother and Uncle Bobby. Months of considering the future, now that he would have a little spawn in the word. Would he need to change how he lived his life? How he talked or acted? He’d always wanted kids, sure - but he always thought that once he’d reached that point, he’d be mature enough to raise them. Or he’d have a partner who would make up for the maturity he lacked.

But right now, as his eyes lingered over the latest issue of Cosmo to his left and snickered at the headline “Boobs: How to be Intimate with your Breast Friends,” he knew he wasn't exactly the model of maturity.

But after all - none of this was truly about  _ him. _ It was about what he could provide to the people who had given him so much.

When Dean was five his father, a decent man but a terrible drunk, had crashed the car carrying him, his brother and their mother on their way home from a weekend at the beach in Galveston. Those hard plastic car seats of the 1980’s had done their job - he and Sammy escaped nearly unscathed, if still covered in sand. John and Mary were not as lucky.

The silver lining of the horrific event had been that they’d gone to live with John’s best friend, Bobby. They didn’t grow up rich, but Bobby made every effort to make sure those boys wanted for very little. For a terminally single grump of a man with few marketable skills (besides being able to fix anything with an engine) and even less social graces, he surprised himself with the capacity he had to love Sam and Dean.

They didn't lack a mother figure either, which they’d found in Bobby’s neighbor, Ellen. From the time they were little, Ellen had been to them her own brand of surrogate mom, unconventional to say the least. Some moms might be wary of exposing their little boys to violence - but not Ellen. Once they were old enough to be a little rowdy, she steered into the skid. One Christmas she bought them both BB guns, and then on the weekends would take them to the lake, set up some cans and let them go to town. The had a safe space to release all that pent up aggression you develop as a child, especially when you’re orphans and are still trying to wrap your head around what the world robbed you of. For Dean, who could remember his mother’s smile vividly even now, it was a bit of solace in a reality too harsh for a ten year old.

Ellen also gave them a sister in her daughter Jo. She was a couple of years younger than Sammy but seemed to run circles around the boys as soon as she learned to walk. Ellen bought her a BB gun too, which helped when Jo’s dad left them when she turned seven. Dean still remembers the fierce look in Jo’s eyes as she stared down the barrel of that gun, focusing on the Coke can twenty yards ahead. Looking at it like it was the reason her dad made up some excuse to go and never came back. Dean decided that day he'd do anything he could to protect Jo from that kind of hurt again.

And when Jo grew up, Dean kept that promise - and extended it out to any woman she brought home. It was odd to play the protective card at first for a lesbian sister, being that Dean's not really one to threaten ladies. But after one too many tear filled evening on the couch, Dean decided that sexist or not, he was going to make sure any woman Jo was serious about knew he'd personally hunt them down if they hurt her.

Any woman until Charlie, that is. Sam had met her in his astronomy class at UT Dallas. Wouldn't stop talking about how perfect the redheaded nerd was for Jo until he brought her around to Ellen’s bar one night. And wouldn't you know it - the bastard had been right. One look (and maybe a sassy comment or two) between Charlie and Jo and well - that's all she wrote. It was only a matter of time before Dean, Bobby and Ellen fell for her too. By the time Jo popped the question to her a few summers ago, it just seemed like a formality - she’d really been part of the family for years.  

So it made a strange sort of sense that when it came time for Charlie and Jo to start thinking about having kids, that they'd come to their surrogate brothers for a little help. Jo had wanted to be the one to get pregnant, but when they went to the doctors they were saddened to discover that, well, simply put, it would be near impossible. There was a lot of medical jargon that bounced around the night she’d told them all - Dean hadn't really paid much attention to the specifics. He'd just seen that same look in Jo's eyes he'd seen when they were kids - staring at the Coke can, trying to figure out how to shoot it in such a way as to make the pain stop. He pulled her outside into the hot September night and tucked her blond head under his chin. They stood on the wooden porch, listening to the zap of a light starting to flicker out.

“You know we’ll figure this out, right?” he said quietly. She nodded against his collarbone.

“You don't need to baby me, Dean. I'm not that little girl in a ponytail anymore. Some might even call me a woman.”

“-Who don't need no man -  _ literally _ ,” he finished, earning himself a snort. She pulled out of his arms, a small, somber smile crossing her lips.

“Well, technically we  _ do _ need a man,” she said, tucking some hair behind her ear. “Part of one, anyway.” From the parking lot he heard the crunch of tires against gravel - the patrons of the Roadhouse finally starting to clear out for the evening. “Charlie said she’d do it. She'd have the baby.”

Dean rubbed the side of her shoulder. He knew it wasn’t exactly what she wanted, but Jo was a resilient woman. “That's good, Jo. That’s great. So, what’s the next step?”

“Actually - we were hoping, I mean, well,” she paused, taking a breath. “This is the biggest thing I've ever asked another human, and I’ve proposed marriage before.” Jo looked up and met Dean's eye straight on. “We were hoping that you would donate your, uh, stuff. To us.”

“My ‘stuff’?” Dean felt like he swallowed his tongue. His face drained of color and he gestured towards his crotch. “You mean, my baby making juice?”

“Ew!” Jo twisted her face.

“Well it's better than ‘stuff’!”

“Ok, yes then,” Jo said, fluttering her hand up. “Your baby juice. Spunk. Semen. Sperm. Whatever.”

“I think you about covered all the terms there, Jo.”

She sighed, and looked out over the parking lot. The overhead lights cast downward shadows on her face. Her hand seemed to unconsciously splay over her lower abdomen. A place that would be forever void of life. A pain that wouldn't ever fully heal.

“It's a big question Dean - don't answer it tonight.” She moved her hand to rest on the wood of the railing, shaking herself slightly. “Please don't just do it because you feel bad for me, or something stupid like that. And know that whatever you say, it won't change the fact that we're family.”

“Like you could be rid of me that easily,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, taking a deep breath to hide the panic slowly beginning to simmer in his gut. He pressed a kiss against the top of her head. “But I'll think about it, ok?”

“Yea, ok.”

But, in truth, what was there to think about? Jo (and Charlie) asked him to help them start a family. Trusted him enough to know that he would love their baby as an uncle, but move mountains if it was in any kind of danger. They were the ones with the hard job here, not him.

And that's how he found himself sitting in this lobby, waiting to hear his name from the receptionist’s lips. He just had to wait a little longer, because whoever was going before him was taking his sweet ass time having a masturbate.

God, that was a weird thought.

It was even weirder when Charlie and Jo showed up - with doughnuts.

“What are you guys doing here?” he hissed. “It's not like either of you can help!”

“First of all,  _ excuse you _ \- you should be so lucky.” Jo rolled her eyes and nodded at Charlie, standing behind her, looking far too cheerful for the event they were gathered for. “My lovely wife thought you might enjoy a sugar boost before your vigorous - ew, what did you call it, babe?”

“I think I said ‘spunking’ like ‘spelunking’ only there’s a cup, not a cave.” Charlie held out the white bag and cringed. “Two doughnuts, one cup? I’m really reaching here.”

“Yeah, please stop - it’s not helping.” Dean grimaced and peeked inside the bag. Apple fritter, and a strawberry with sprinkles. The smell of sugar hit his nose, temporarily replacing the faded Lysol smell of the waiting room. His stomach gave a hopeful gurgle - he  _ had _ skipped breakfast, after all. “I do however accept your offering.”

“Good.” Charlie smiled, and Dean couldn’t help grinning back. That woman’s joy was downright contagious.

The door to the other part of the office creaked open and out came a man, his face completely void of color. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d swear he looked like he’d seen a ghost. There was a nurse to his back, ushering him forward with quiet words of encouragement. As he shuffled his way past Dean and the girls, the nurse turned and looked at her clipboard, then back at Dean.

“Mr. Winchester?” she asked, and he nodded. “We’re ready for you.”

“Oh, this is it!” Charlie said with inappropriate enthusiasm. “Break a leg! Or, don’t, that sounds  _ too _ vigorous. Then again, I don’t know what you’re into and I don’t want to kink shame-”

As much as Dean had dreaded walking into that other room, to get away from whatever was coming out of Charlie’s mouth, he practically ran to it.

* * *

 

The plastic cup in his hands felt too light. 

The paper underneath his naked ass crunched as he moved. It was near deafening in the quiet room.

Overhead, the buzzing from the fluorescent still throbbed through his aching head.

And nothing, and he means nothing, about what he was psyching himself up to do was sexy.

It looked like an ordinary exam room. Nondescript art on the walls. A little counter with a sink and a cabinet for things that would poke and prod you. A tastefully shaded window, letting in some natural light but giving an air of privacy. The room had such a sterile feel to it, that he was worried the moment he did begin to touch himself some doctor type was going to walk in on him and catch him in the act. Throw up his or her hands and yell “What on earth are you doing, you filthy pervert! And in public?!”

He got up and waddled across the floor in only his shirt and socks, and checked the lock on the door again. It was secure. He was safe.

The paper crunched again as he laid down on it, trying to steer his thoughts towards sexier images. The nurse had offered a rather dismal selection of naughty magazines, each sort of dog eared and faded.

“Do you have a preference?” she’d asked, like it didn’t mortify her in some way.

He’d glazed over the nudie mag titles. Nothing that really struck his fancy. And he thought better of asking if they had anything with men in it. No sense in making this harder on the poor nurse than it already was.

And so he was forced to conjure some images himself to get started. For a while he ran through his standard repertoire of his favorite celebrities. But Angelina Jolie and Alyssa Milano hardly received more than a little twitch. He reached down and ran his hand along the inside of his thighs, letting the back of his hand brush his balls. It sent a jolt of heat down his spine, and then a stark memory to the forefront of his brain.

A memory of blue eyes.

He chastised himself for thinking of Cas again but who was he kidding - this was the perfect solution. Imagining Cas, his strong chest, thick thighs, and spit wet lips - it was enough to get him hard again in no time, regardless of the circumstance. He took himself in hand as he remembered the feel of his body underneath him, the way he hummed and moaned as Dean teased at the head of his cock. It was possible that Castiel truly didn’t know how beautiful he was as he looked at Dean through lidded eyes, so close to coming all it took was a plea from Dean to push him over.

Dean pulled at his balls, remembering how soft Castiel’s hand felt. They didn’t even each say what they did for a living, but Castiel must have some kind of work that is easy on his hands. They felt amazing grasping at Dean, milking him like it was his one purpose in life. Over and over again.

He could almost imagine Castiel there, with him, in that clinical little room, pushing him down against the paper. Crouching at the end of the exam table, pulling at Dean’s legs until they were bent on either side of his head. Then mouthing at his balls gently, steadily. Until Dean was boneless, helpless to do anything but moan his name. And then he’d finally touch him, spitting into his hand and slicking up the length of Dean. It wouldn’t take long - Dean would already be so close to the edge. He’d whisper “Dean” as he stood, quickening his pace. Leaning over him and sticking a finger in Dean’s mouth. Swirling it around his tongue and dragging it down his bottom lip. Distracting him just enough so that the orgasm sprung up on him surprisingly, and he’d yelp and arch with the pleasure of it.

Dean at least had enough sense to grab the cup before it was over.

There was a tingle in his body all the way down to his toes as he came down. It was rare that anytime he jacked himself off that the orgasm would be  _ that _ intense.

The room suddenly felt colder, and a chill ran across the skin that was damp. He quickly stood to clean himself up, and throw on his pants. As he buttoned them he looked over at the tiny cup and its contents. So that was it then - that little bit of himself was going to be making a person. Seemed - ironically impersonal. He picked up the container and placed the lid on it, raising it to eye level.

“Here goes nothing,” he murmured.


	3. Chapter 3

It didn't work.

Should have been simple, right? Sperm, meet egg. Pour her some champagne, put on some Barry White and merge until zygote.

He tried to make light of it as he sat across from Charlie and Jo. But the news felt like a storm cloud had just relocated to their living room. Sam came in with a few beers and a hot cocoa for Charlie. His presence seemed to break the tense silence between the three prospective babymakers as he took a seat in the recliner.

“So, what did the doctor say?” Sam started. Dean recognized the tone immediately as one Sam liked to utilize with his patients. Not that Dean had ever been eavesdropping on any of Sam's residency hours while he was finishing his masters in therapy. Alright maybe he had, but only because he was curious. And he’d walked away from it so impressed with the kind of therapist his brother had become. He really was a natural. Maybe it was for the best that Sam was putting his skills to use in this case.

“He said it just didn't work,” Jo had her arm around Charlie, who was staring at the opposite wall. “Nothing’s wrong with Charlie or anything.”

“Thank goodness,” Sam said.

“Wait does this mean-” Dean flinched. He absolutely didn’t want to know the answer - but he had to ask it anyway. “Is it me? Something wrong with my swimmers?”

His question was met with silence, which is never encouraging. Jo looked crestfallen, like she didn't have the heart to tell him that it was entirely his fault her dream wasn't coming true.

“We’re - we’re not sure.” Charlie spoke up, patting Jo’s knee. “The doctor said he would like you to uh, well - do it again. At their office. So they can make the transfer faster.”

Again?

It was over a month ago that he'd sat in that office and did his business, but he could still feel the same sense of dread.

Not to mention, what had helped him last time would certainly not be helping him again. He hadn't imagined Castiel in that way again on purpose. No need to torture himself thinking of what could have been, if he'd only been in a place to start something with him.

But in truth since that day, Dean hadn’t called Castiel. Thought about it - posed his finger over the “send” button on no less than 20 text messages, ranging from the ever casual “Hey” to the incredibly revealing “I’ve never felt so connected with another human in my life, I have to see you again”. None of which actually made it to Castiel's phone. Because Dean knew it wasn't fair to ask anyone, let alone Castiel, to jump on this crazy train with him. He didn’t know how this little human was going to change his priorities and responsibilities.

No, Dean had made the responsible call, for once in his life. First good decision of well, sorta parenthood. Afterall, wasn't it supposed to be about sacrifice?

And so there wasn't any doubt that he'd sacrifice his dignity for a second doctor visit.

“Yea, sure. Of course.” He reached forward and put his hand on Charlie's leg. “You just keep those doughnuts coming, and I'll hold up my end of the bargain, ok?”

Charlie nodded and Jo gave a little smile. Poor things - they look like they’d both been up half the night crying. Both brothers sprang into action - Dean ordered a pizza and Sam got them all going on an intense round of “Super Smash Brothers”. By the end of the evening the four of them were in tears from laughing, and Charlie emerged victorious, per usual.

“It's because you play Link, and all you have to do is button-mash!” Sam said. “I'll bet if you played Samus or something we’d at least have a chance.”

“No one likes a sore loser, Sammy.” Dean chuckled and polished off the last of his beer. “You gals up for another round?”

Charlie shook her head and stood, gathering their plates. “Nah, I think I've embarrassed you guys enough tonight.”

Dean groaned. “You know, everytime you beat him like this and leave, he makes me play against him for another hour for practice. Like it’s going to make a difference.”

Charlie giggled as she entered the kitchen. “Awww - that's darling Sam. You keep dreaming!”

Alone with Sam and Jo for a moment, Dean turned to her on the couch. She was staring after Charlie, tracking her as she moved in the kitchen.

“You really ok?” he asked. Jo let out a long breath.

“Oh yeah, we’ll be alright. Just another bump in the road.” She stood up and pulled Dean up with her. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him close. “Thanks for doing it again Dean. I know you hated it last time.”

“It's -it was - well it was nothing compared to what you two have been through.” He rubbed her back. “Don't worry about it.”

They said their goodbyes and Sam closed the door, picking up the few glass bottles to toss in the bin. Dean helped a little, straightening the living room and then going to the backdoor to let Gabriel in. He bounced across the floor with excitement towards where the girls had been sitting, but was sorely disappointed that they had left.

“Sorry buddy - Charlie's allergic.” Dean said, reaching down to scratch the soft fur behind his ears. Gabriel gave a little indignant sniff and then caved, leaning his head against Dean's leg as he scratched.

“For what it’s worth, I think you're a good brother,” Sam said, as he came back into the living room with two fresh beers. “I know how much you don't want to do that again.”

“Dude it was horrific - I was pretty sure someone was going to walk in on me and arrest me for public indecency.” Dean threw back the bottle, hoping a little more liquid courage would ease the panic in his veins. Sam just snorted.

“You laugh - but I could lose my job.”

That sobered Sam a little, and he bent to pick up Gabriel. He’d really gotten into the habit of coddling that dog - letting him onto his lap and giving him a belly rub. “Yeah, I know. Speaking of - you’ve been home more than usual - I thought there were more programs happening after school?”

Dean picked at the beer label. Work was really the only thing keeping him sane recently. “They start next week. Soccer two days a week, shop class on Wednesdays, and cooking Fridays.”

“Oh - so I can expect you to bring home dinner Fridays?”

“If by dinner you mean pizza made by an eight year old, then sure.” Dean smiled. He was actually excited about the cooking class - he’d really campaigned for it. Dean had been working as an activities coordinator at the YMCA for a few years now, and coming up with new curriculum was part of the gig. As much as he’d loved being a mechanic at Bobby’s shop, it wasn’t nearly as rewarding as working with kids every day. Sure it was great that he was helping them grow and learn about the world and all that crap, but his favorite part? Kids were hilarious. No filter on those little mouths - they just said whatever comes to their mind. Every day he left work laughing.

Unfortunately, working with kids didn’t pay the bills as much as he’d like. So he’d split a small house on a cul de sac with Sam. And it shouldn’t be this nice to live with your brother into your thirties, but the truth was they would have likely been over at each other’s houses more often than not anyway. Plus, splitting the cost of rent was helping Sam pay off his student loans - it was a win/win.

Except for those few times that Dean managed to bring someone home for a tryst or two, but that happened so rarely anymore it hardly seemed worth it to worry about it. And Sam hadn’t dated anyone since his girlfriend Jessica had passed a few years back. Bachelor life with the brothers seemed to fit them both. Well, the two of them - and Gabriel. Jo had decided about six months after Jessica was gone that Sam needed a dog - something about it easing the grief. Whether that was true or not, here they were, both quietly watching the corgi fall asleep on Sam’s lap, his little tongue peeking between his teeth.

“You spoil that dog.”

“Just wait until I have a nephew,” Sam grinned, giving the belly another scratch. “Or niece, I guess. Is it weird that I’m really excited?”

Dean felt a lightness in his chest watching how his brother’s hazel eyes lit up at the idea. As much as he was dreading making another deposit, it was going to be worth it to watch his family grow by one more small person. He smiled back at his brother.

“Nah - I’m excited too.”

* * *

 

Compared to the sperm bank, this place was a friggin  _ palace. _

Sleek bamboo walls lined the entrance of the fertility specialist’s office. A little zen-like fountain greeted them at the door. Walls were painted in such a rich, calming green it felt like he’d just walked into a garden. Even the waiting room seats were more comfortable than his recliner at home.

“What the hell is this place?” Dean murmured, taking a seat next to Charlie as Jo checked them in. He hadn’t come here for the blood test he’d taken the week before - but now he wished he would have, instead of going to that pathology lab around the corner from work.

“I know right? Really different from the bank.” She sat back, drinking the little cup of water she’d been offered by the receptionist.  “Take a deep breath - it smells like gardenias in here.”

He did - and boy was that weird. Not a trace of overly sanitized plastic. “Ok, wow. But why?”

Charlie shrugged. “The whole zen thing is supposed to be a better environment to create a baby in.”

“No offense but,” Dean gestured around the room. “This ain't exactly the kind of ‘environment’ babies are usually made in. It doesn't really scream ‘quickie in the back of a Pinto’ or nothing.”

Charlie snickered and fished the slice of cucumber out of the bottom of her cup. She popped it in her mouth and leaned back against the chair with a contented sigh, letting her eyes close. “Quiet Dean, you're harshing my mellow.”

Still, if the office was this serious about the ‘feel’ of things, it definitely rose his hopes for the porn selection. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as the last time.

“Charlie, Jo? We’re going to go ahead and take you to the room.” A cheerful blonde woman with a great smile stood beside an opened door, motioning for them to follow her. She wore scrubs - the top half pink, and covered in doughnuts. The bottom half black and hardly doing much to camouflage her great curves, Dean observed with a wolfish grin. He just barely suppressed a racy thought about the cute nurse assisting with his donation.

They followed her down a corridor with the same sort of zen theme. Medical devices lined the walls and floors looking as sleek and polished as the rest of the office. Whoever owned this place had taken great care to make sure that it had a professional and soothing feel to it - and as he watched Charlie and Jo walk hand in hand in front of him, he could tell it was comfortable for them as well. The blonde woman took Charlie’s weight, temperature and blood pressure, and then pointed at Dean.

“You’re next buddy,” she said with a grin.

Soon they were situated in the exam room, complete with large flat computer screens and a set of stirrups. Charlie took her place on the exam table and Jo stood next to her, wrapping her arm around her shoulders. Dean felt for a moment like he was intruding on a private moment as they leaned together, until Jo glanced up his way.

“Thanks again for this, Dean,” she said quietly.

Dean opened his mouth to remind her that she’d already said thank you to him  _ three times _ (and that was just today), when the door opened. He was positively shocked at how quickly the doctor was seeing them. His first thought was that he'd absolutely have to go write a Yelp review about this place or something.

And that was the last coherent thought he had before his brain function skidded to a halt.

Because in through the door, walked Cas.

He was busy at first, looking down at the chart, his brow furrowed in concentration. Didn’t even look up as he said “Hello Charlie, sorry, I can’t seem to find a pen,” and started patting down the white coat he wore. The one embroidered with the name “Dr. Novak”.

But then he did look up - first glancing at the women with a friendly smile. Then to where Dean sat beside them.

Blue eyes went wide, and Castiel swallowed. He looked at first shocked, then happy, then confused, then angry. All emotions fettered across his features in the blink of an eye. His face fixed on a single one that Dean hadn’t seen before, but understood it immediately - cool detachment.

“Is this - your donor?” he asked politely. Dean could see the hand at Castiel's side fidgeting. He himself could scarcely move - his felt like something sat heavy on his chest.

“Yes, Doctor Novak - this is Dean,” Jo smiled, oblivious to the tension between the two. “Dean and I have been very close since we were young - he’s like a brother to me. Though obviously, not a blood brother or anything.”

“Is that so?” Castiel asked. The words formed on his lips were calculated. Dean mind was racing, trying to think of what he should say. Everything from “I’m sorry, I should have called, do you see now why I didn’t?” to “I’ve never seen this man before in my life” formed on his tongue but none of it felt right. Should he say that they’ve met, and how? From the tension pulling across Castiel’s shoulders, it didn’t look like he was particularly happy to see Dean. Maybe he should just keep his mouth shut.

“Dean and I have actually met,” Castiel said suddenly, as if he’d just remembered. He turned his steel gaze to Charlie. “In the interest of full disclosure, I want to make that clear. We had a brief relationship. However, I assure you I can be completely professional about treating you, should you decide to continue.”

Dean observed, a little detached, that he’d never seen Jo so shocked in his life. His heart was racing in his ears as he looked between them and swallowed. Charlie however, ever the kind of gal to roll with the punches, seemed relatively unaffected. She glanced over at Dean, and then back to Castiel, then back to Jo, with a small shrug. “I mean, I don’t care if you don’t…”

Jo’s eyes were fixed on Dean’s, as if she was trying to hold some kind of silent conversation with him. They hadn’t really done that since they were kids, when one of her books had talked about telepathy and they’d spent the whole summer staring at each other, trying to share thoughts. It hadn’t worked then, and it didn’t work now - but Dean gave a small nod. He wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to - admitting that Cas was right? Telling her he was okay? Just felt right - after all, this could just be another bump in the road. And really, he wasn’t going to mess this up for them over his night of irresponsibility.

“If you’re sure,” Jo replied, a little wary.

“I am,” Castiel said, his voice a little deeper. He straightened himself up, and focused on Charlie. “Now, in order to get this done today, I need to take Dean over to the room for his  _ sample _ .” He finished with a little inflection, like the thought disgusted him. “Donna will be back in after me to get you ready for reception. Is that ok?”

Charlie nodded and reached out a hand to pat Dean as he stood. “Go get em, tiger!”

“We’ve got to work on your pillow talk, Charlie.” Dean sighed as he followed Castiel out of the room and down the hall. His heart was thundering in his chest - should he say something now? Apologize? This didn’t exactly feel like the best moment to confess how different that night had been for him. And on second thought, why would he do that? Maybe it’s better that Cas thinks he’s an asshole - then he can just move on. It wasn’t going to work between them anyway.

To his surprise, Castiel followed him into the exam room and closed the door. It was nearly identical to Charlie’s, only the lights were turned down considerably, giving the room a romantic glow. That, coupled with the soft music piping through unseen speakers, the exam table without paper on it, and the large television screen in front of him - these things were not helping Dean keep this professional.

Neither was Castiel crowding his personal space. He got right up in his face, so close in fact that he could see how the black of his pupils nearly overtook the blue. God, he wanted to kiss him so badly - just one wouldn’t hurt, right?

“What. Were. You. THINKING?!” Castiel exploded at half volume, straining to keep his voice down. His hands flew up on either side of Dean. “Hooking up with me before you were supposed to donate? Tell me Dean, are you heartless or just stupid!?”

“What?!” Dean reeled back in shock, his hands instinctively clenching at his sides. “You said you could be professional about this!”

“About our night together and you never calling me again? Sure.” Cas took a step back, and Dean was grateful. It was too intense to be so close. “But about you, hooking up with a stranger the night before you donate for a pregnancy? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?”

Dean opened his mouth to defend himself, but then closed it. Because the answer was, no.

“I didn’t think so.” Cas turned his back to him and pressed his hands on the exam table. “Besides the fact that you’re not supposed to masturbate for at least a week before you make a donation, let  _ alone _ have sex, you could have given Charlie,  _ and _ her baby a STI. Did that even occur to you?”

“No,” Dean said, his voice quiet. “But we didn’t-”

“I’m a doctor, Dean, I know what we did. I know what could have happened. I know how reckless that was.” Castiel pulled his hands back at his side, wiping them on his coat. “Luckily your blood test came back clean. You still should have been, er, saving yourself. I trust you've refrained from sexual activity since then?”

“Yes,” Dean hissed, hating the admission - but glad that it was true. “You were the last person I was with, alright? I haven't even- nevermind. Besides, how was I supposed to know any of that?” He wiped his hand down his face. “I would have never done anything to hurt Charlie on purpose!”

“You mean to tell me you offered to do this for these women, whom you consider  _ family _ , and you didn’t think to do an ounce of research?” Cas finally turned back around and well, at least the emotionless exterior was gone. It had been replaced with anger bordering on hatred. It made Castiel’s nostrils flare like he was about to breathe fire. “I ask again Dean, what were you thinking going to that bar? And taking me home?!”

“I was thinking it was my last night before I had to settle down and be responsible!” Dean said. He felt crowded, cornered - mostly embarrassed. No, the thought hadn’t crossed his mind to ‘save himself up’ for anything because he’d never had trouble going multiple times in a day, thank you very much. And it wasn’t like “donating sperm to your lesbian sister” was something they covered in SexEd. All of those fuzzy warm feelings for Cas had been sucked clean away - turns out Cas was just a self righteous prick all along. Well, that makes this easier.

“You know what? I don’t have to take this shit from you.” Dean crossed his arms. “Am I good to donate today or not?”

Castiel seemed taken aback by that, blinking for a moment at Dean before looking down at the chart. “Yes. Medically, you’re sound.”

“Then get the fuck out of here so I can do this.” Dean said through clenched teeth.

Cas flinched like he’d been hit. Seems like their power play was still in effect - and Dean took back control. That helped a little, and he shifted his stance, setting back his shoulders.

“Make it quick,” Cas said, turning to the door and opening it.

“You know I can!” Dean barked back. Then groaned to himself as he realized how ridiculous it sounded. But it was too late.

The door closed quietly, and he was alone.

* * *

 

Furious was an understatement. He vaguely registered that some people get off on this kind of frustrated energy. They work it up until it explodes in a powder keg of angry moaning and body fluids.

He didn't feel turned on so much as charged like a live wire, flickering and spitting and ready to bite anything that comes too close. He sat on the exam table with a hard thump and covered his face - his skin was practically broiling under his fingertips. Where did Castiel get off with his high and mighty attitude anyway? It wasn't like any of that was common knowledge and besides - Dean meant it when he said he would have never done anything on purpose to screw up Jo and Charlie's chances of this working. Fuck - that was the whole point of this modifying ordeal to begin with!

And now, Cas had riled him up and just expected him to “perform.” What a fucking bastard.

Might as well get this over with. Again.

He snatched the little cup from the counter and set it next to the exam table. Reaching down he pulled his cock out and gave it a few strokes, trying to steady his breath. There seemed no point in looking for porn - if it was somewhere in the room he couldn't see it and if it wasn't, he sure as shit wasn't going to go out there and ask for it. Still, the adrenaline coursing through him was just starting to subside - maybe if he conjured the right pair of tits, he could finish with the kind of speed that would put his fifteen year old self to shame. That would show Cas.

But nothing happend.

Alright then, he thought, I'll change it up. Apparently he'd had a taste lately for men, so he decided to give that a whirl. Think about a dick, he ordered himself - hard and sleek, pressing insistently against his ass. A pair of strong, masculine hands gripping his hips from behind, so tightly it might leave a bruise. A hot breath against his neck, smelling nothing like the fabricated floral scent of the room - more like the bitterness of a hoppy beer.

Slowly his cock came alive under his hand. He clenched his eyes tightly in concentration. Now those phantom hands were moving, tracing the lines of his chest. One rested on a nipple, pinching it roughly. The other kept climbing until it was wrapped under his arm and pulled Dean back flush against the solid phantom body. Warm flashes of blue eyes threatened to give that faceless body a name, but he pushed them aside. No way was he going to give that bastard the satisfaction of being the reason he was able to “accomplish” his task.

But he soon ran out of original images - much as the mind could conjure a few unique encounters, Dean had nearly always relied on past experiences when he “shook hands with the unemployed” as it were. He tried running through some old flames to move things along. Lisa and her bendy legs - Cassie and her luxuriously long waist - even nurse Donna, and her perfectly sculpted ass. In the end, the most he felt was his soft skin beginning to chafe. It wasn’t enough.

And now he could hear the clock ticking. He’s pretty sure he didn’t see an analog clock in this room when he came in, but it insisted upon itself none the less - echo increasing with each second hand stroke. Images of Charlie and Jo waiting in the other room flashed through his mind (determinedly not helping maintain his erection) and he let out a huff of frustration. How long had he been at this now - fifteen, twenty minutes? How long was he allowed to take?

Then he thought of the man from the sperm bank, leaving the office with a ghost of shame. The dejection in his face at being unable achive what a 13 year old boy does quite literally in his sleep.

Well - that will not be him. Even if he has to swallow his pride to do it, he will make damn sure to provide Jo and Charlie what he promised. A man is only as good as his word.

So he let himself picture it - Cas standing right outside the door, his chest heaving from their argument. He’d come barging back in, black hair wild, claiming to have a good reason.

“You were taking too long!” he’d say, as if that were a thing that was at all appropriate, given the current circumstances. Dean would give a sly grin, as if he’d have expected this. He’d have known Cas would have been sitting there, driving himself positively mad with the idea that Dean was just on the other side of stucco, touching himself.

“I could really use a hand.” The words would be dripping with innuendo, the kind he could only conjure after achieving the perfect cocktail of booze and confidence. He’d pull his pants down a little further, and slide his hands along the tops of his thighs.

The sight of Dean’s half naked body would give Castiel pause. Gone would be the fury in his eyes - it would be replaced with hunger. “Dean, I - I need to touch you,” he’d murmur and then be on him. Their lips would meet with searing heat, tight and needy. Castiel would have his hands on Dean immediately, as if the moments where he was not touching him were like agony - and Dean’s body was the only salve. He’d jerk him expertly, with a clear destination in mind but no terrible rush.

“God - Cas,  _ yes _ ,” Dean let tumble from his lips.

And then again Dean’s senses would be filled with Cas; how his lips tasted, the smell of his skin, how the stubble from his chin burned down Dean’s throat as kisses were pressed. He’d feel him all around his body, pressing him down and holding him steady, really - because Dean would be writhing. Trying to hold himself still. Wrapping his hands around the plastic cushioning of the exam table, fingers digging into the steel of the frame. He’d be close - so close. And Cas would just know, like Dean’s body was a symphony and Cas could feel the final note approach.

Dean managed to come into the cup, but his brain was still picturing kind blue eyes, and a ravenous grin.

* * *

Dean put the little jar on the counter. It looked so odd sitting there, next to a notepad advertising Lorazepam and a little ceramic tree stump full of green pens. He stole one, stashing it in his pocket.

“I’ll take this right away.” Donna smiled at him as he looked up. She had that same kind of infectious joy that Charlie has, and he gave a half smile back.

“Tell them I’ll be waiting in the car.” he said, not looking up. His face still was flush, and he felt exposed.

“Of course.” She patted his shoulder kindly and then called out. “Dr. Novak - ready for you with Ms. Bradbury.”

Dean didn’t want to see his face again - couldn’t, really, after the way they’d left things and especially after Dean pictured him doing all  _ that _ . But it seemed unavoidable, as Cas popped out of a doorway (to what appeared to be his office) just as Dean was passing.

They didn’t speak, but their eyes met. Castiel looked tired, the bags under his eyes a little more pronounced and his hair was mussed like he’d run his fingers through it. Dean probably looked just as disturbed. But there was nothing to say - Dean was still furious, and Cas had a job to do. So they kept walking.

And Dean kept hoping that would be the last time he’d have to face Castiel again.


	4. Chapter 4

But of course he would eventually have to face Castiel again - because Dean’s life was an homage to Murphy’s Law.

That is, with one notable and significant difference - Charlie got pregnant.

“I know that everyone says we should wait a few months to tell anyone that we’re pregnant because, well, so much could go wrong.” Charlie stuffed her face with a pulled pork sandwich between words. “But we couldn’t keep it from you guys! You guys aren’t everyone, you’re family! Besides Sam wouldn’t stop pestering me every single day asking if my boobs hurt, or if I’d gone to the bathroom more often that day…”

“Alright! So I was curious! Sue me!” Sam laughed. They all sat at the Roadhouse, eating Bobby’s famous pulled pork sandwiches. Famous not so much for the taste, more the potential explosion that happens afterward. It doesn’t happen every time, or to everyone - it was luck of the draw really. Last time it had been so bad, Dean and Sam vowed to keep “Poo-pouri” in each of the bathrooms, no matter how girly it looked.

“How would you even know to ask that kinda stuff?” Dean asked, reaching for a napkin from the pile in the center. Sam rolled his eyes, as if it was common knowledge that it was alright to ask a woman about her breasts, as long as she was pregnant.

“Because I paid attention in biology, Dean.”

“Hey - when it comes to boobs, I was absolutely paying attention!”

A rogue fry hit him on the temple. He turned to see Bobby staring at him with a grimace. “You might want to watch that mouth of yours, you’re going to be somebody’s uncle here pretty soon.”

That was pretty rich coming from a man who hardly censored himself the entire time they were growing up. Dean laughed into his beer. “Because being an uncle ever kept you saying whatever was on your mind!”

“How would you know what I kept to myself, boy?”

Bobby had a serious look to match his tone, but it was short lived - his face cracked in half and the rest of the table joined him in laughter. The evening felt warm and comfortable, with good news surrounding them like a blanket and a sense of familiarity. The Roadhouse was practically empty on a Tuesday evening, save a few barflys and the mumble of the news from a television as old as Dean. This is where he grew up, really - these wooden, uncomfortable chairs, tables carved with their initials or the dents of the Legos they used to drag in to play with after school, walls covered in pictures of old regulars who ate finished their famously large “Monster Burger”. Hell, it even smelled like the bottom of a beer bottle half the time. Shouldn’t be nearly so proud as to have grown up in a bar, but with Ellen and Bobby watching over them they never felt anything but safe in this place.

And now his niece or nephew would grow up here too. The thought filled his chest like a balloon. How strange it was to think there was a little person starting in Charlie’s belly right now that would look like him. Maybe sound like him. Grow up and maybe share his interests - just a few. A person that wasn’t bigger than the end of his thumb at the moment. Who felt so much bigger in his mind.

“Dean, you’re staring,” Charlie whispered, cutting across the table and unnoticed by the others who were now indulging in a rousing game of “Six Degrees.” (Also called “How to irritate Bobby in under five minutes, because he doesn’t pay attention to pop culture”).

He looked up from where his eyes had been fixed on the lower half of Charlie’s hoodie. The top half was slashed with red - it was meant to look like a Starfleet uniform, but it really just served to bring out the rose in her cheeks. She was  _ actually _ glowing - he was at least familiar enough with that pregnancy platitude.

“Sorry, it’s just - I mean, there’s a person in there.” He pointed at her belly like it wasn’t obvious, and she covered it with a wide hand. “That’s just -”

“Amazing? Miraculous? Weird? Spooky? Flipping fantastic?” she supplied, a smile creeping across her lips.

“All of the above.” he said. “Though, I think it’s going to be very weird for a while.”

She nodded, rubbing her belly a little before turning back to her Shirley Temple. “You’re telling me. I’m trying not to have visions of Aliens here.”

Dean groaned. Now  _ he _ was picturing a tiny baby with a top hat. “Oh, God - really Charlie!?”

* * *

 

“Hey, I have another favor to ask you.” Jo was breathless as she ran out after Dean, her boots crackling against the gravel of the parking lot. They’d just finished stacking chairs and sweeping the floors of the Roadhouse and his back ached in places it hadn’t ached in years. It was a great evening, but he just wanted to go home, pop some ibuprofen, crack a beer and watch  _ Cake Wars _ .

“Yeah - shoot,” he mumbled, fiddling with the keys to unlock the door to the Impala.

“I was wondering if you’d take Charlie to the doctor next week?” she asked, her voice light and quick. “I’ve got this knife conference in Vegas I have to do a demonstration at, and I really can’t get out of it….”

Dean closed his eyes and breathed for a moment. It was a technique he’d picked up over the years - too many quick tempers, bar fights and bruised ribs. Breathing takes his anxiety down a notch. It was also an essential job skill working with children. One he utilized often.

“Jo…” he began, and felt her hand on his shoulder. Dean turned to her and she was smirking. That wasn’t exactly the compassionate reaction he’d have hoped for.

They really hadn’t talked about Cas or what had transpired between the two of them on the drive home following Charlie’s appointment. The air was too charged anyway with the knowledge of the implantation - the idea that Charlie’s body could be making a baby  _ right flipping now _ . Kinda put a damper on any “So, you screwed my doctor?” talk. But Jo knew Dean like she knew how to shoot that BB-gun or how to expertly carve a turkey to get all of the meat off. She knew there was more to that story, and she’d sit on her haunches until she determined it was the right time to ask.

And he knew she couldn’t miss the opportunity to show off the skills she’d been practicing for years as a chef. Just like he knew the chances of him denying her anything were pretty slim. It’s a good thing she so rarely takes advantage of his complete lack of spine when it came to helping out family.

“What about your mom? Or Sam? Or Bobby?”

“Mom’s busy, Sam has clients, and are you serious with Bobby?” She jabbed him hard in his side. “I’m going to be lucky to drag Bobby to the hospital when she delivers. You know how he is about doctors.”

“Jo, look Cas - Dr. Novak - we uh-”

“Yeah about that-” she started. “Dean, I thought we were family. How exactly did you have a queer hook up and not even  _ tell me _ ?”

“Since when does family share stuff like that?” he countered, but she was right. He hadn’t even told Sam about Cas. That should probably tell him something - the fact that he felt so strongly about this guy that he was worried if he opened his mouth to share anything about him, everything would come out. Every little strange, amazing moment. The odd way he looked at Dean, like he’d just discovered a secret compartment in a cupboard that contained a tiny treasure. How their bodies felt like they were playing the same melody line, completely in tune. How he’d not stopped thinking about him since that night.

She leaned against his car, mindful of the rivets on her tight jeans. Her arms were crossed in such a way that he knew, even if he fought it, she’d end up dragging something out of him. “Spill it, Deano. It’s time.”

And so he did - start to finish. From the reckless way they’d met, staying vague with the details of the actual physicality of their encounter, to the Uber in the morning. He hesitated before telling her about how mad Cas was at the fertility clinic, because then he’d have to admit to how reckless he’d unknowingly been. But she didn’t seem angry - on the contrary, she gripped his bicep tightly as he finished the story, her eyes full of sympathy.

“That - sucks,” she said, punctuating the last word with a sigh. “Dean, it didn’t even occur to me that maybe this would affect your life in this way - I would have never -”

“Hey - that ain't on you. It was my call.” Dean said, patting her hand. “Besides, I needed a break from all that crap anyway - isn’t like I’ve had the best track record in recent years.”

He looked above her and at the night sky - it was a full moon, and the light reflected off her golden blond hair. It gave her a little bit of a glow as well, and he wondered if that pregnancy glow could be shared by both parents.

Then he had an odd moment where he pictured himself glowing too - tiny sparkles of light piercing out of his freckles. Looking more like a disco ball than a prospective… whatever the hell he was. Somehow, he didn’t think Charlie’s pregnancy was going to have that kind of effect on him.

Jo made a huffing sound and drew his attention back down to her. She bit her lip. “Yeah, but you’ve been playing pretty exclusively for one side of the team. Maybe this switch means something. Maybe Dr. Novak means something.”

“What it means is, I had an itch to scratch and I scratched it. That’s all.” His tone was gruff and there was a good chance that Jo would see right through his hard exterior. She seemed to, but the way she cocked her head at him a little but then shrugged. Jo knows how to pick her battles - obviously she was backing down from this one.

“Well still, now I feel like an ass for asking you to go with Charlie.”

“No - no, it’s fine. I can take her.” Dean made himself stand up straighter. Gotta sell this one or she’d see right through it. “We can be civil adults.”

“You want me to talk to Dr. Novak? Make sure he won’t harass you again?” she said, turning up her chin. He laughed to himself as she did that - he’d been on the wrong end of that look too many times growing up. That look often lead to a boxed ear or a bruised shoulder. He didn’t put it past her to give the same to Cas.

“Down, girl - everything is going to be fine,” he repeated, patting her head.

And he kept repeating that to himself - for the next week. As he showed a group of five year olds how to balance a soccer ball on their foot. As he tinkered with the Impala’s catalytic converter over the weekend. As he showered the morning of the appointment.

But as he walked inside the clinic, green eyes met blue from across the counter. And nothing felt very “fine” at all.


	5. Chapter 5

It really shouldn’t be legal, how that man looked in an overcoat. Tan or white, it didn’t seem to matter. 

But Dean was professional. He flexed his hands at his sides and planted a fake grin across his lips. He hoped it was convincing enough as the doctor looked him up and down with poorly hidden disdain. They didn’t speak - an uncomfortable beat passed between them.

Charlie cleared her throat. “Hi, Doctor Novak,” she said, her smile significantly more genuine, but still treading lightly. Dean hadn’t needed to fill her in on anything - Jo had already seen to that before he even came to pick her up. Still, she’d not drilled him for additional information, instead filling the drive with tales of her latest gaming conquests. It was nice to have a direction his brain could run in besides the obvious. Only now he found himself here again with his heart in his throat standing in front of Cas. Trying to act nonplussed - and failing horribly.

Castiel’s eyes shifted to Charlie, and his features softened. He sighed before he spoke, lips turning into a small smile. “Charlie - it’s great to see you. Follow me.”

Dean suddenly turned back towards the little lobby. This was his chance to escape, having fulfilled his obligation to get her here. He’d thought about it beforehand and decided that the best way for him to get through this was to avoid being in the actual exam room with them at all. He could deal with seeing Castiel for a minute - but he’d rather have his toenails pried off slowly than endure a half hour of staring at those cold blue eyes next to Charlie. Besides, he didn’t know what was going to happen in there, but he suspected it largely involved Charlie's lady parts and well, that was also a hard no.

Except Charlie stopped halfway down the hall and turned back. “Dean - you coming?”

“I, uh -” he stammered. Desperate for an excuse, his eyes met the receptionist, who peered at him sharply from behind the counter. Silently judging. Great - now he looks like some kind of deadbeat dad type. Peachy.

“Yeah uh, just getting some water.” He faked another smile at the receptionist, who rolled her eyes, unconvinced. Geeze, everyone’s a critic.

The adequate exam room suddenly felt stifling hot with the three of them crowded in. Though it was clear from the additional chairs that they were used to having at least one other person with the patient. Maybe it was just all this damn tension that seemed to fill the room like a noxious gas. Castiel didn’t make eye contact - he just handed Charlie a little gown and advised her to change. Then closed the door.

“Oh - uh - should I-?” Dean scrambled to turn away, then thought better and strode the two steps to the door. Then remembered the condescension stretched from ear to ear across the receptionist’s face and turned back. Charlie stifled a giggle at his confusion.

“Calm down Dean, I know my ladylike virtue is safe with you. Just, uh, look at that beautiful picture of a uterus.”

He did as he was told, facing the almond colored wall. The picture was rather detailed though - in truth he’d never paid that much attention in school when they’d gone over the actual nitty gritty details of the female reproductive system. And well, in practice it wasn’t exactly something one needs to know when one is just, uh - having sex with it.

“So the baby’s here?” he said, gesturing to the vaguely empty space in the middle. Charlie was suddenly behind him, stretching her hand to point and clearly stifling a giggle.

“Yeah, thereabouts. I’m not sure when it detaches from the uterine wall - I guess I could ask Dr. Novak…”

“No - no that’s fine. I’ll uh, look it up.” Dean nodded and turned back to Charlie whose glow suddenly seemed to diminish, wrapped in drab blue cotton. Her color had changed too - her neck seemed to be turning a shade of pink. “You ok?” he asked as she took a deep breath.

She grimaced but nodded as she set herself on the exam table. “Oh sure, just a little morning sickness. Loads of fun. You should try it.”

Dean frowned, glancing down at his wristwatch. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon.”

“My hormones aren’t on an actual schedule,  _ Dean _ , it’s just a phrase,” she said through clenched teeth. Charlie was suddenly so frightening that Dean actually welcomed the re emergence of Castiel, who bustled through the door like a storm cloud.

He seemed to have a great deal of important things to do that did not include making eye contact with Dean. First, he asked how she’s feeling, making some small talk about the size of the embryo at this stage. Dean appreciated that the description is in relation to food - something which, unlike uterine walls, he’s familiar with. Then he asked Charlie to lay back, adjusting her pillow so it was in the right spot for her head. He asked her if she’s cold, and when she says yes he grabbed a blanket from a warmer by the door (which actually looks like a little fridge, ironically enough). He scooted her gown up to just below her breasts, briefly flashing her Pac Man panties before he tucked the blanket around her hips.

“Things are gonna get pretty personal Dean-o, you good?” She looked up at him with a half smile. Her color seemed to be coming back in incremental measures since she laid down and she was breathing easier, so he smiled back and ran a hand through her hair gently.

“Oh, I think we’re way past personal, Bradbury. I’ll try to contain my masculine urges.”

Castiel, who was still decidedly not looking at Dean and so tense he could probably crack a walnut with his ass, pulled over a complicated looking monitor. Dean, for the moment, couldn't tear his eyes away from Charlie’s belly, which didn’t look particularly pregnant. It just looked like she ate way too much pizza about an hour ago and could use a Tums.

“Okay Charlie, now we’re going to do a sonogram. But,” Castiel frowned as he picked up a tube from under the monitor rack. “It looks like Donna didn’t bring in the warm lube, and I’d really like for you to be comfortable. So if you’ll excuse me-”

Dean almost made it. He’d been professional, he’d been mature. He’d been all about Charlie and just let Castiel do his doctor thing.

But he lost it at Castiel manhandling an obscenely large plastic squeeze bottle full of lube.

He tries to pass the laugh off as a cough but he knew he was caught when he turned back to Charlie and Castiel.

“Is something funny, Mr. Winchester?” Castiel practically spit the words at him.

Oh God, there was nothing funny about that look. Cas looked like he wanted to throttle Dean on the spot. Which, as Dean cleared his throat and straightened back up, was actually ridiculous. And admittedly pretty sexy, if he’s being honest. It’s just a little lube - even Charlie would laugh at this! Why is Castiel being so freaking combative?

“Lube. It’s a funny word, that’s all.” He added a pointed smirk for good measure, feeling just a touch sassy.

Castiel drew his lips to a line and rolled his eyes. “Your maturity level is admirable for someone who’s about to become an uncle.”

“ _ My _ maturity level?” Dean huffed back. “I’m sorry, I’m just here to support my friend - you’re the one who’s been giving me the stink eye since I got here!”

“Dean-” Charlie called, her voice low and calm.

“I've not given you any kind of ‘stink-eye’ Mr. Winchester - all of my attention has been on my patient.” Castiel stood, carefully placing the bottle of lube back on the little table. His shoulders locked tight, he raised an eyebrow. “I'm sure it hasn't escaped your notice that not everything is about you, and least of all this.”

“Hey, guys - I think…” Charlie started.

The nerve of this freaking guy! It's like every time Dean tries to be the bigger person, he's instantly shot down. Cas isn't giving him a freaking inch. Dean closed his eyes and took and deep breath before opening them and narrowing in on that stupid perfect face. “Dammit, I'm not trying to make this about me, I just want to help Charlie-”

“Your definition of ‘help’ is dubious at-”

And then, Charlie threw up.

In her defense she did try to avoid the important things- like the expensive sonogram machine. And herself. In fact it seemed like she had been trying to shift towards the trashcan in the corner but didn't quite make it that far. She made it as far as Dean, and threw up all down the front of his jeans.

“Shit!” Dean yelped but had the decency not to jump back entirely as Charlie fell forward a little onto his chest. She breathed heavily, moaning in distress and shaking her head back and forth. Castiel jumped into action, pushing around the table to get ahold of Charlie with Dean and together they gently prop her back against the table.

Charlie's eyes are closed tight, and her mouth slack as she struggled to take some deep breaths. Castiel opened the door sharply and called for Donna, then returned to Charlie's side to press fingers against her pulse.

“Charlie? Can you talk to me?” he said, his voice the model of calm and in control. But Dean can see the veins popping from his neck. She sort of moaned and nodded in a daze.

“What's wrong with her?” Dean continued to pet her forehead, clammy and hot under his hand. Guilt flutters in the back of his brain - he should have been playing more attention to her and how she was feeling. Instead of stupidly arguing with her doctor.

“I think she's just had a drop in blood pressure in combination with the morning sickness,” Castiel murmured, his eyes sharply on the clock on the wall as his fingers dug into her pulse. “She’s just over 18 weeks along so it’s unusual, but shouldn’t be anything to worry about.” Donna rushed in then with a blood pressure cart and pushed Dean to the side. She started hooking up little monitors here and there on her body, clamping something down on Charlie's finger and wrapping her arm in a cuff.

Dean felt utterly useless as he stood above her, smoothing his hands through her hair, watching as her body is poked and prodded. He didn’t even realize that he's taking shallow breaths with her until he felt Castiel's hand on his shoulder. Looking up he's met with a much kinder expression than he's seen on Castiel since the night they met.

“Breathe, Dean - she's going to be ok,” he said, his other hand still on her pulse point at her wrist, despite the contraptions hooked up to her. Almost like he trusted his own touch more than the machines. Dean nodded and let himself watch the rise and fall of Castiel’s chest, matching his breathing, deep and easy. Under his hands Charlie stirred finally and let out some deep breaths of her own.

“Well that’s one way to get you two to shut up,” she grumbled, her eyes still closed tight. “Doctor, is the baby okay?”

“I’m certain the baby is fine, and we’ll get you hooked up to a sonogram in a minute,” Castiel finally pulled his hands away from Charlie and Dean to go to the sink. He grabbed handfuls of paper towels, handing them back to Dean who in his panic completely forgot the growing colder by the moment barf staining his jeans. Glancing down, his face in a grimace, he realized that just a few paper towels aren’t really going to help.

“I, uh, have some spare scrubs in my office.” Castiel frowned as he stares at Dean’s crotch. “Donna, can you grab those?”

“Cas, you don’t-” Dean started then stops, remembering that he’s not called Castiel by his nickname since their night. Cas seems to remember too, as something unreadable changes in his expression. “It’s fine really. I work with kids, I’m used to a little barf.”

“Thats  _ a lot  _ of barf and its mostly pancakes,” Charlie corrected as she sat up, suddenly having seemed to make a full recovery. The color returned to her face, and her lips quirked up in a smirk. “Is it bad that I want more pancakes? Shouldn’t that gross me out? Pregnancy is weird.”

Dean was decidedly not looking down at his pants and shoes, lest pancakes be ruined to him forever.

“Dean I insist,” Castiel opened the door. “I have some in my office. Follow me.”

The walk to the office is brief, and Dean is grateful for that damn white overcoat hiding Castiel’s grade-A ass from his view. Because honestly, the situation is painful enough. Once inside, Dean took in his surroundings. Cas’ office is decorated much the same as the rest of the medical suite in natural, calming tones. Framed art and degrees decorate the walls, but aren’t boisterous. It’s all very understated - except for the turn table on the little counter on the opposite end of the room. It’s black, boxy and old - the plastic cover that goes over the record has a yellow tinge, but seems well taken care of. It sits on top of an equally ancient receiver, and next to it, two speakers are pointed to face Castiel’s desk.

It’s such a striking contrast from the rest of the room that Dean startles a bit when Castiel hands him the pants. “Here - oh.” Castiel followed his line of sight and, strangely enough, actually smiles. It’s warm and genuine, like he hasn’t given Dean since their night together. “That's an - indulgence. I know it doesn’t really fit the motif.”

“You got any records here?” It’s a stupid question, but Dean suddenly must find out what Castiel listens to. Maybe he’ll get lucky and it will be some crap like Jimmy Buffet or Mitch Mitchem and then the spell Cas has cast will be broken.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” he said, but there was no heat behind it. He walked over to the cabinet above the turn table and opened it, revealing a few dozen records standing on their side. “This is just a bit of my collection. I have quite a few more at home.”

“Wow,” Dean murmured, his fingers running along the different titles. They were vintage but all in decent condition, from what he could see, and damn, this was an impressive list. Beatles, Big Brother and the Holding Company, Beach Boys, Beethoven, Chuck Berry, Blondie….

“I’m making an attempt to listen to all of the records I own - it’s a New Year's resolution.” Castiel picked up the plastic on the turntable and took the record off, holding it up to the light to check for dust or scratches. From where Dean is standing, the shiny black of the vinyl is nearly blinding. “As you can see I haven’t gotten very far.”

“What were you listening to just now?”

Castiel puts the record back in a plastic bag and plucks the sleeve from the stack. “Zeppelin, actually. Their second album is my favorite and I like to listen to it when I’m having a bad day.”

Zeppelin? That's what he listens to when he’s upset? God, that was the opposite of helping Dean’s mental (and actual) boner for this guy.

“I’ve always wanted to get a turn table and some records, but Sam has the whole house hooked up to Spotify, and my car only takes cassettes anyway, so I’ve never gotten around to it,” Dean said, taking Let It Be out gently, turning it over in his hands. “I didn’t realize you were a classic rock guy.”

Castiel chuckled, drawing Dean’s attention from the album. “It’s not as if we really talked much, Dean. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

There’s a truth behind Castiel’s words, and Dean bit at his lip. He hated that never called Cas - it was cowardly. After the night they had, he’d owed him an explanation. He’d wanted to avoid the tough conversation per usual and now he’d made much more of a mess than he needed to.

“Look Cas, about that night,” he started, trying to swallow down the primal urge to forget everything and run from the room. “I didn’t - well, you get it now, right? Why I couldn’t call?”

Castiel drew his eyebrows together, looking at Dean skeptically. “You did make it clear that all you wanted was a one night stand from the beginning. I didn’t expect you to.”

“Right, right…” This was not going well. Dean felt a flush rise to his cheeks. “But I, uh - I had more fun than I expected to. It was - nice.”

“Yes,” Castiel’s features brightened by a fraction, and Dean’s pulse quickened. “But you didn’t call because you were going to help Charlie and Jo get pregnant.”

“Yes! Exactly.”

“And their having a baby affects you because….?”

That's the million dollar question, isn’t it? Dean sighed, putting Let it Be back on the shelf. He ran his finger along the edge again before looking back up. “It’s just - nothing is more important to me than my family, Cas. And I didn’t want to start something when I don’t know how this is going to affect my life.” He paused, taking a deep breath, feeling raw. “I’m not really even sure what I’ve jumped into. But those girls - they’re not blood, but they’re family. Whatever they need, I’m gonna do what I can.”

That was more honest than he’s been in a while, with anyone. But something about Castiel draws it out of him, like a siphon. He can’t help but want to share all of himself with the man, tell him he’s an open book and to turn the page when he wants. Castiel seemed to understand at least, pinching his lips together and nodding before closing the cabinet again.

“That’s admirable,” he said simply, and nodded towards the door. “Anyway, you can go change in the restroom down the hall.”

“I did enjoy it - enjoy you.” Dean clarified suddenly, feeling like his window had been closing. What window exactly, he wasn’t sure - he wasn’t even sure how well it would be received. But Castiel’s lips twitched and he cocked his head gently.

“I enjoyed you too, Dean.” And there’s that warm smile, like a sunrise in the spring. “I also enjoy your company, when you aren’t being immature.”

“Dude, you spread warm lube on women all day. You’ve gotta admit it’s kinda funny.” Feeling bold, Dean poked at Castiel’s crossed arm. Castiel huffed in amusement.

“Believe me, it’s the least sexy application of lube you can imagine.”

“Is that a challenge? Because I can think of way less sexy ways of using lube.” Dean laughed, sticking his hand in his jeans pockets and - oh God, that’s right. There’s still barf down the front of his jeans as he’s trying to flirt with Cas. He grimaced and pulled his slightly damp hand away. Castiel burst out laughing, unexpected and infectious, and he joined in.

“I’d like to get to know you though - just as friends.” Castiel said as the mirth faded, but his smile remained. “You’re easy to talk to, and I think we’ll be seeing a great deal of each other in the coming months.”

“Yeah, ok. Sounds good.” Dean answered with sincerity, trying to ignore the way Castiel’s suggestion made his heart skip a beat. “I’m uh, gonna go change out of these barf pants now.”

Castiel winked, and Dean’s knees buckled. “You do that.”

He made quick work of the change. The scrubs were comfortable, a worn dark blue and dammit, they even smell like him. Great, now his crotch is going to remind him of Cas. It’s a slight improvement over barf in that he no longer smells like bad breakfast, but he does want to rub himself inappropriately in public. With a groan he steels his resolve to walk back to the exam room.

Dean can hear a quick pounding noise before he enters which only grows louder as he opens the door. The lights have been dimmed and Castiel sits on a stool beside Charlie, some kind of wand firmly pressed to the side of her abdomen.

“Hey there, puke-pants, have a look,” Charlie has a broad, beautiful smile lit in muted light from the machine. She’s pointing to the monitor and there, clear as day, is a miraculous, moving - grey blob.

“Is it, uh...” He moves closer to the monitor and squints. “It looks like a potato. Is that a finger?” Underneath him (because he’d moved to crowd over her) Charlie clears her throat. Castiel cracked a smile, his broad mouth as relaxed as Dean’s ever seen it. God he looks great when he smiles.

“That potato is your niece,” he said, pointing towards the screen. “Her head is here, see? And that’s her little heart beating.”

“It sounds fast!” Dean said with some alarm.

“It’s okay Dean, that’s normal.” Charlie clarified, gently.

“And that’s -” he looked again, trying to discern the shape of her head before it hits him. “Wait! It’s a girl?! You guys are having a girl?!”

Charlie snickered as Castiel shook his head. “Can’t get anything past him, can you?”

“You should try playing Charades with him.”

Dean huffed and crossed his arms. “You two are a riot.”

Castiel removed the wand, wiped her belly and rolled towards the door, turning the lights back on. “Everything looks great, Charlie. She’s a healthy size, right about where we’d expect at 18 weeks. I’m a little worried about the morning sickness, but I think that should fade soon.” He reached out to help her sit up. “All the same, can you make sure to eat more? I don’t want you to lose any weight.”

“That will  _ not _ be a problem!” Charlie said with a grin. She’s probably already plotting where they can stop on the way home. Dean hoped it was Smashburger and not IHOP.

“Great,” Castiel looked up from Charlie, his eyes finding Dean. He seemed to contemplate something for a moment, then turned to the desk, grabbing a flyer and handing it to Dean. “I know you’re uh, well I don’t know how involved you’re going to be but you seem to want to know more about babies. I’m putting on this class next week for all of my expectant patients if you’d like to come.”

The flyer has a sort of gender neutral stick figure couple on the front holding one another. It’s nice, actually, and now that he thinks about it, there really weren’t many images of a man and a woman together in the office. Maybe that’s why they picked the place. Castiel’s attention to detail like that only serves to endear him more to Dean.

“Oh Dean you should!” Charlie added and when he looked up into that shining face? How could he say no? Plus, more time with Cas...and he did say he wanted to be friends…

Maybe this could work.

“Sure,” he said without giving it another thought.

* * *

 

The rest of the afternoon passed easily, he and Charlie catching a bite to eat (thankfully not breakfast food) and playing some Super Smash Brothers with Sam after work. In the late evening he found himself lying on his bed, two beers in, with no energy to get up and shut off the lights.

And he’s still wearing Castiel’s damn scrubs.

The smell has faded, at least. He’s tempted to take them off and lift them to his face for a closer whiff, but he’s got more self respect than that. Alright, just barely enough.

Besides, he should probably practice more self restraint when it comes to Cas anyway. Sure, they had the most mind blowingly intimate sex he’s ever had (just from hand jobs! Imagine if they’d actually - no, no he cannot imagine, nope, not going to go there) but if they were going to make a real go at this friendship thing, he was going to have to tone down the sex with fantasy Cas. Who knows - maybe it had been just a fluke anyway, lightening in a bottle. Maybe the next time would be awkward and sticky and then they’d ruin their friendship so it’s probably better this way.

He doesn’t actually believe that, not even for a second. Castiel played his body like practiced musician, and he had no doubt act two would be just as explosive.

He jumped as he’s pulled from his thoughts by his phone buzzing against his nightstand. Frowning, he reached over to pick it up - and his heart skipped a beat.

It’s Cas.

_ I hope I wasn’t too forward today with my suggestion of a parenting class. _

Dean smiled. He’d brought it up with Charlie on the way home, and she’d been positively thrilled. “Dean, we wouldn’t have asked you to donate if we didn’t want you to be as involved with our kid as you wanted to be,” she said between mouthfuls of fries. “I mean, I know it is different, but would you be any less involved if I wasn’t carrying your genetics around right now?”

He’d contemplated that for a moment before concluding. “No, you’re right,” he said. “I just don’t want you guys to be, I dunno, worried that I’m going to try to be her dad or take your kid or something.”

“I have a feeling there’s gonna be days when we throw her at you and run!” Charlie laughed and reached across the car, patting Dean's shoulder affectionately. “Besides, one day you’re gonna have some rugrats of your own, right? Might as well be prepared, boy scout!”

Yeah sure. Someday if he maybe can be mature enough to not laugh at the site of lube.

**Nah, it’s all good. I should know this stuff anyway.**

_ I thought you said earlier you work with kids? _

**Yeah, but not babies. The youngest one is five. I’m the activities coordinator at the Y.**

_ That must be very rewarding. _

Dean rubbed his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by the brightness of the room. Getting up he turned off the light, pulling his shirt off but finding that it was still too difficult to part with the pants. Telling himself it’s only because they’re so comfortable, he climbed into bed and replied.

**Kids are funny, but I think you’ve got the better gig, Doc. Looking at lady bits all day long.**

_ I assure you, it’s not nearly as glamorous as you think. _

**Oh crap, sorry. I’m bi, I just meant I’d like it. Come to think of it, why did you become an OBGYN if you’re gay?**

_ You misunderstand. I’m bisexual as well, it’s just that I’m not exactly looking at my patients like that. _

**No, I didn’t mean to imply - I know you’re a good doctor - shit. Sorry.**

_ I’m laughing Dean, I actually get that a lot. _

**Can I start over?**

_ I think you’re doing a fine job living up to my assessment that you’re rather immature. ;) _

**Dude, did you just use a winky face emoji?**

_ I was trying something new. It will never happen again. _

Dean snorted, feeling his eyes grow heavier.  **Don’t say that. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never tried the “One Night Stand to Friends” route before.**

Three dots filled the screen for longer than before. Cas must be taking his time forming his answer.

_ Now that you mention it I haven’t either. I guess I’ll have to make one exception. _

**Well, don’t strain yourself or anything.**

He fell asleep as he waited for the reply, the phone buzzing against his chest.

_ I’ll do my best. Goodnight Dean. _


	6. Chapter 6

The parenting class was just as diverse as Dean had expected, given the kind of practice Castiel ran and the kind of person he is. There was a gay couple with their surrogate, another lesbian couple (besides Jo and Charlie), two women and a man who appeared to be in a triad (and both women were pregnant!) and two heterosexual couples - one covered in tattoos, and the other in flip flops and tie dye. 

It was quite a sight, especially in Dallas.

The room was located in the back of the medical office, and natural morning light flooded through floor to ceiling windows. Brightly colored yoga mats lined the floors but Dean stood near the wall as others took their seats. It didn’t feel right to sit next to Charlie and Jo, where they were wrapped around each other and chatting with the other lesbian couple beside them. He’d hoped for a chair, but maybe he’d just have to run into one of the exam rooms and steal that little stool Castiel sat on the other day.

Dean was just about to make his move when Castiel breezed in. He was wearing what appeared to be yoga pants for dudes and a black t shirt that was tight across his shoulders. His gait was loose, and he wore no shoes. He looked like he just came from relaxing on a lazy Sunday and that shouldn’t be as hot as it was but  _ damn _ . Dean wanted to throw him over his shoulder, take him home, order pizza and give him a blow job on the couch. Instead, he plastered on a smile and flexed his hands at his sides. Turning a little, Cas nodded at Dean and then addressed the class.

“Morning, everyone. Thank you for coming.” He took a seat on the yoga mat near the front of the room. His muscular legs folded perfectly, and Dean tried to suppress any thoughts of his flexibility. “I’d like to start off our session with some introductions. I think I recognize most of you from our appointments. I’m Dr. Novak, and I’ve had this practice about three years now.” He turned to the woman to his left. “You wanna start us off, Chrystal?”

Everyone took their turns around the room, explaining their unique circumstances. Dean had always stood on the fringe of the queer crowd, sort of an outsider looking in. His bisexuality had felt like a dirty little secret outside of his core family, and since he’d not ever seriously dated a man before, it was easy enough to fit in with the mainstream crowd in Texas. But these people were living their lives completely out loud, and he was at once terrified for them and incredibly proud to be sitting among them.

The triad was the most interesting situation of the bunch, as they explained that the two women had met first, fell in love, and decided to find a sperm donor. When one of them suggested a friend of their brothers, they’d been cautious but reached out anyway. Then the three of them, to everyone’s surprise, fell in love.

“The two of us getting pregnant at the same time was  _ not _ planned!” The woman who introduced herself as Tara said. “Allison was told that she was infertile, so we just never worried about protection and then, about two months after I found out I was pregnant, Alex knocked her up too!”

“What can I say except, you’re welcome?” Alex quipped from behind the two women, and the room burst into laughter. Of course a roomful of prospective parents know about Moana. Dean felt a little more at home.

Except for Jo. Well, she laughed, and you wouldn’t know it unless you knew her but there was no ease in it. Dean wanted to reach out to her, but saw Charlie’s arms tighten around where Jo was still holding her from behind. Jo nuzzled into Charlie’s neck and sighed quietly.

Soon it was their turn, and Charlie animatedly explained their own unique situation (leaving out the part of Jo’s infertility, to Dean’s relief), and Dean waved awkwardly when prompted.

“Yep, that’s me, I’m the donor,” he said, suddenly feeling like the outsider looking in again. It was dumb for him to have come to this - all of these people were going to be actual parents. He was just going to be a very loving uncle. He didn’t belong here. He started to run through a list of excuses to get out of the class when Castiel started talking again.

“Thank you all for sharing your stories. I’m very proud to have a practice that feels safe for all kinds of parents.” He smiled and uncrossed his legs. “Let’s start off by having our pregnant folks sit in front with their legs bent, and whomever is going to support can wrap their legs on either side of them.”

The class began to move but seemingly to just become a tangled mess of limbs. Castiel rose to try to help a few of them get into position, then thought better of it, sat back down and called out to Dean.

“Here, I’ll demonstrate. Dean, would you come here please?”

Dean’s stomach flip flopped as his eyes darted around the room. Everyone was still human pretzels and looking at him expectantly, like he was going to provide the magic answer. He swallowed, coughed, then swallowed again and toed off his shoes. He approached the mat as Castiel patted the foam between his legs.

Well, that’s one hell of an invitation.

“Thank you,” he said, his gruff voice just on the side of Dean’s ear. Cas pulled himself closer, putting each of those sinfully thick thighs on either side of Dean's hips and reached forward. “Now just pull your legs to cross like this.” He pulled at Dean’s legs until they crossed in front of him, and then Castiel rested his hands on either knee. Dean suppressed a shiver and oh God, how was he going to survive this? “Good, good. That’s it Allison, well done.”

Castiel’s body heat radiated from his chest onto Dean’s back as he continued to speak with each of his patients. Jo and Charlie had already figured it out, of course, and were fixing Dean with different looks. Jo’s was one of concern - Charlie’s seemed to say “Score!”.

Really, they’re both right.

“Now I want you to have your partner lean back - that’s right Sara, rest your head on Casey’s shoulder - just like this.” Castiel sat up and wrapped a strong arm around Dean’s chest, pulling him gently against himself. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he knew he should probably object to what was happening. After all, what he was feeling right now was no where near the realm of “just friends”. But he didn’t because holy shit was it nice to just relax and let go, resting his head against Castiel’s broad shoulder, feeling his other arm grasp him around his front.

He kept talking to his class of course, but Dean began to tune out the actual content of his words, instead concentrating on the feeling of his voice rumbled his chest. How warm his hand felt splayed across Dean’s soft belly. The feel of his breath ghosting Dean’s temple. The smell of him close, that lemony ozone scent again and something else, like fresh laundry. He desperately wished they were not being so observed, but God, did he feel so  _ comfortable _ .

“Deep breaths, concentrating on how the air fills your diaphragm, and then let it out. Breathing will be very essential part of the birthing process, whether you decide to have an epidural or not.” Castiel moved his right hand so it sat on top of Dean’s pectoral muscle, right above his heart. It was pounding, and for the moment, Dean didn’t care if it gave him away.

He scooted back a little in an attempt to stretch, and his ass brushed the inside of Cas’ upper thighs. The doctor’s breath hitched quietly.

Oh good - Dean was hoping this wasn’t a one sided deal.

“I’m going to demonstrate some other birthing positions.” Castiel cleared his throat and drew his legs back, kneeling behind Dean. “You can also roll the mother onto her side like this.”

Dean was pliant under his hands, and went slowly onto his side as Castiel coaxed him. Cas took his hand, and slid it in between Dean’s knees from behind, first bending his left leg, then raising it as he slid it further up his thigh. “This helps redistribute the pressure on her cervix.” He paused, then placed his other hand low on Dean’s stomach. “I’ve seen this really help those who are having a difficult labor.”

Castiel’s fingers gripped the inside of Dean’s thigh tightly. The man was in dangerous boner country, and the fact that Castiel was still so close behind him was only making it worse. He tried to think of unsexy things - a squashed bug. Dog poop. An overflowing garbage can.

“You can also relieve some pressure by kneeling.” Castiel set Dean’s leg down, but moved his hands to Dean’s hips. When he speaks, it’s directed down at Dean. “Dean, get on your hands and knees.”

Holy shit, why are there so many fucking people here when he’s making those kinds of commands?

Dean just obeys, and he only tries to go slowly to give stave off the implication that he was overly excited to be manhandled. He hastens a glance up at Charlie and Jo, who are in a similar position and completely red faced, trying to keep from laughing. Except nothing about this is funny. It only becomes less funny when Castiel grasps onto his hips and pulls him from behind to butt up against his front.

“Now you’re going to want to wrap your hands around their hips tightly, or maybe even wrap your hands around their middle to keep them supported so they don’t feel like they’re going to slip down to the ground if the pain really hits. And of course, practice your breathing in this position.” Castiel moved his hands forward and slid them around Dean’s belly. He’s quiet for a moment as he watches his patients get into position and talk amongst themselves, and then he leans forward and whispers, close, “Do you feel like you’re going to fall, Dean?”

Falling is the last thing on Dean’s mind. Images, each more dirty than the last, of what they could be doing in this position fill his thoughts instead and he has to focus on the dent in the wood floor below him to cast them aside. He’s reasonably sure if Castiel let him go he’d float to the top of the room like a balloon, he’s so filled with butterflies. The words to respond dry up on his tongue, and damn it all, Castiel gives that same low, knowing chuckle, tantalizingly close to his ear before moving away. That bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.

Fuck -that’s even hotter.

Dead bugs. Dog poop. Hot, stinking garbage in the sun.

“I think that’s good for now. Now I’m going to go over what the actual birth will be like so, Dean,” Castiel pulled back and sat on his knees. The loss is at once upsetting and a relief. “You can have a seat over by Jo and Charlie.”

Being a bit too riled up, so to speak, to stand, he crawled his way over to the girls as Castiel continues to lecture. They don’t say anything of course, but they both look like they’re fitting to burst. He adjusted his jeans with a scowl.

“Not a word out of you two. Not a damn word,” he grumbled.

Despite the boner inducing start to the class, the second half actually teaches Dean a great deal about the entire birthing process. By the end he’s asking just as many questions as the parents, and he’s starting to feel a little more confident in his ability to help take care of his niece outside of just holding her until she “breaks” (at such time he will hand her back to her parents, as has been his standard protocol for babies up until this point).

Afterwards, they stay longer to help Cas wrap up all the yoga mats. Well, Dean does - Charlie makes a big show of faking a yawn and then insisting that she needs to lay down “right away for the sake of the baby” and Jo plays the part of the dutiful wife that must tend to her wives needs “immediately” and then it’s “Dean, you can grab an Uber, right?”. At which point, Castiel insists he was going to ask Dean to accompany him to the coffee shop next door anyway.

It all feels like a big ass conspiracy to get the two of them alone but he wasn’t exactly complaining. Not when Cas hands him a steaming, strong cup of coffee with a smile that crinkles his eyes.

Yeah, this “just friends” is going  _ real _ well.

“Thank you for helping me with the demonstrations today,” he said, and unless Dean’s radar is totally off, there's a hint of playfulness to his voice.

They’re wandering now down the busy street and away from the small cafe just outside of Castiel’s practice. Dallas springtime feels like the calm before the storm, having just finished its insane winter and gearing up for a sweltering summer. But the sun is shining, and it’s just this side of cool so that the coffee in his hands feels comfortable. He laughed a little.

“I gotta admit, I wasn’t expecting you to be able to hold a class like that - they teach you that in med school?” he said, taking another sip.

“Actually no,” Cas smiled, stopping at the crosswalk ahead of them. Dean watched the traffic pass carefully, then unconsciously puts his hand along Castiel’s lower back to walk them across the street. “I took a year off and studied to be a doula. I never finished, but I hold classes for my patients every few months. I really enjoy it.”

“Wait so, you took a year off from learning how to deliver babies to - learn how to deliver babies?”

Castiel smiled again - Dean can see it out of the corner of his eye. “I never thought about it that way, but yes. I got a little fed up with medical school but I still wanted to work with pregnant women so, that seemed like the best place for me.”

“But you didn’t finish?”

“I was persuaded to get back into med school and give it another try. I stuck with it and became an OBGYN.” Cas lifted the coffee to his lips again, and Dean’s throat went a little dry watching his adam's apple bob as he took a sip. He forced himself to look away, spotting a little soccer field where he knew some of his kids would be practicing today.

“What makes you want to help pregnant women?”

“This feels like an interview, Dean. I invited you out to learn more about you.” Cas said, then adds, quickly, “...you know, for friendship.”

“I’m just making conversation!” Dean pointed towards the field as it comes closer. Sure enough, he can spot three of his kids right away in grass stained white jerseys. “Hey, some of my kids are playing soccer - you wanna sit and watch?”

Cas nodded and polished off his coffee, tossing it in a waste bin as they traverse across the grass. Dean recognized a few of the parents along the sidelines and they smile as he waved, but no one comes over to talk to them. Belatedly he realized it might look like the two of them are out on a date, which makes him both happy and sad - happy that they would readily accept his lifestyle choice, sad that it isn’t actually true.

“So tell me your life story, Dean.” Castiel is close enough that their crossed knees bump, and he’s leaned back against his hands.

“It’s a real page turner, I promise,” Dean scoffed, picking at the grass at his feet. “I’ve got one enormous baby brother - smart as a whip. Folks died when we were young-”

“I’m sorry,” Cas interrupted with sincerity, his blue eyes the same color as the sky and honest. Dean nodded his thanks, and continued. 

“Raised by dad’s friend and Jo’s mom. That’s why we’re so close.” he said. “Took on some extra jobs to help Sammy through school - he went to become a therapist - one of them was working janitorial at the Y. In case you were wondering why barf doesn’t bug me so much - try cleaning out bathroom stalls at the YMCA after Halloween. I haven’t looked at Skittles the same way since.”

Cas smiled, a hint of tongue peeking out to wet his lips, dry from the direct sun. He’s not watching Dean, but his eyes dart to follow the young soccer players as if he’s analyzing every move.

“Why do you do that?” Dean said suddenly.

Castiel’s eyes move to look at Dean. “Do what?”

“You watch people so damn closely. I’ve never met another person who does that.” Dean pointed towards Castiel’s eyes, which narrow down his finger. “If you weren’t so nice to most people, I’d think you were judging them.”

“I’m not, I assure you.” Castiel refocused on Dean’s face. “I’m just observant. I like watching how other people are, what makes them react and interact. Humanity - it fascinates me. Sometimes I’ll sit for hours in a park, just people watching.” He doesn’t look away as he adds, with a wolfish grin, “Besides, you knew that already Dean. I loved watching you.”

In the direct sunlight it’s very obvious how the pink rises from Dean’s throat to his cheeks. He looked away, unable to hold the careful stare of those blue eyes.

They're quiet for a moment as Dean contemplates how the hell they’re ever going to be “just friends” when Cas says shit like that to him. And also tells his dick to calm the fuck down already. Castiel goes back to watching the soccer players like he hadn’t just dropped one hell of a bomb. Half of the group around them suddenly cheer - the game must be over.

“Wait, what do you mean, I’m nice to ‘most’ people?”

Dean straightened himself up with a smirk, taking a deep breath to regain some confidence. “I mean, you were a real dick to me.”

Castiel made a noise like he’s going to argue, but when Dean turned back to look at him he’s pursed his lips. After a moment, he shrugs. “I take my job very seriously but you’re right. I was - upset - about the way things went down between us. I let it affect my better judgement and professionalism.”

“Hey, it’s cool man, I was an ass too.” Dean gingerly patted Castiel’s knee. “I was embarrassed that I fucked up so royally with the whole sperm donation thing. I should have done my homework.”

“It worked out very well. Your niece is healthy, and Jo and Charlie seem happy.”

Dean smiled, remembering the look on their faces as they told him they were pregnant. And that was really the important thing to him - that his family was happy and taken care of. He could sacrifice a lot if it meant he was fully committed to making their lives better.

Even if he did want to lean over and press his lips against Castiel's. They looked warm from the sunshine. Hard as this was going to be, it was better this way. Castiel was a good guy - he deserved someone who could be fully committed to him. And that just wasn’t Dean right now.

“I should get going,” he lied. He had no plans for the rest of the day but go through a six pack and marathon Indiana Jones. “Wanna split an Uber?”

“No thank you, I still have some work to do at the office. I should be going as well.” Castiel’s voice dropped, and maybe Dean was imagining it, but he sounded disappointed. “Thank you for the walk, Dean. This was nice. We should do it again.”

But should they? Castiel got to his feet and reached down, smoothing his hands along Dean’s before pulling him up strongly. For a moment they were entirely too close - Dean could see the flecks of darker blue within Cas’ irises. He wanted to quench his thirst with those pools of blue like a man walking through the Sahara.

Instead he just shook Castiel’s hand and mumbled his goodbye before he could do something he would regret.


	7. Chapter 7

Secretly, Dean’s always enjoyed karaoke.

He’s got a lot of good memories associated with it, and that helps. Ellen’s Roadhouse has held karaoke once or twice a month for as long as Dean can remember. It was always a night where everyone felt a little looser, and not just from the copious amounts of alcohol. There’s an ease that’s developed among his family with the idea of mutual embarrassment. Everyone looks like an idiot up on that stage, so everyone (at least for the night) gives a few less shits about looking like an idiot.

Plus, he’s no slouch. He wouldn’t admit it to very many people (ok, no one, really) but he actually likes singing. Alone in his car, he stretches the timber of his voice, letting it match or harmonize with the music pouring through the old speakers. And he’s not half bad. He’s certainly not going to join up with a band or try out for American Idol, but he’s not awful to listen to, if he says so himself.  

But outwardly? He’s made a stink about karaoke night since he was old enough to make a stink about pretty much anything.

“You love it,” Sam muttered under his breath as the pull up to Roadhouse. Dean glides baby safely into her normal spot and kills the engine.

“Sure, Sam.”

“I know you, Dean. You can act all tough, but you actually enjoy Bob Seger-ing all over that stage.” Sam quipped, crawling out of the car. “Besides, it’s been months since we’ve done one of these. It will be good for you.”

“Hey!” Dean narrowed his gaze. “In this family we don’t ever take the Seger name in vain.”

But Sam’s not wrong - Dean’s been sort of uncharacteristically melancholy since the birthing class. Well - more like a downright grumpy asshole to anyone too stupid not to give him a wide berth. It wasn’t so much that he’d regretted his decision to keep things on a friendship level with Cas, but in practice, it was significantly more difficult. In the following weeks, they’d tried to text here and there but it seemed as if they couldn’t avoid getting at least somewhat flirty. Which struck Dean as extra odd since he’s had, for most of his life, female friends he could be “just friends” with.

Cas was different though - he saw right through Dean’s bullshit. And seemingly innocuous texts were charged with extra meaning.

_ I hope you had a pleasant Sunday _ , Cas texted one night.  _ I delivered three babies today. _

**Hope everything came out okay.**

_ Mother and babies all healthy. I, however, am pretty sticky. Can’t wait for a shower.  _

**Enjoy yourself. You deserve it.**

_ Oh, I will. _

Or another time a few days later-

**Okay, you’re officially crazy for doing this running thing. I tried it with Sam this afternoon and I’m pretty sure I died about an hour ago and I’m just ghost texting you.**

_ You have to keep doing it, Dean. Eventually you get to the point where you feel the runner’s high. It’s all endorphins. _

**I can think of so many better ways to get my endorphins flowing.**

_ You’re better at those than running anyway ;) _

Alright, maybe to an outsider they didn’t sound all that alluring but Dean knew there was hidden innuendo behind the texts. And he had to admit, it sent a thrill down his spine every time. But it was getting harder and harder to pretend they could ever be just friends.

Jo and Charlie are already there when they walk in. Roadhouse is full to the brim with girls in short shorts and men in cowboy boots. The smell of beer and sweat greets them like a friend and it feels like home. The girls are all smiles and hugs, Charlie’s tummy protruding in her striped maxi dress. It bumps against Dean’s own torso, and he’s surprised with the solidity of it against the rest of her increasingly soft curves.

“Looks like you’re taking Dr. Novak’s advice about eating,” he said as they make their way to a red leather booth. They squish in next to each other, Sam’s long legs crowding underneath the table. Around them, the ambient noise is reaching a fever pitch - the singing is about to begin.

“I’ll ignore the fact that you just called my wife fat, Winchester, if you get off your sorry ass and put in our order,” Jo said, pushing Charlie’s hair behind her ear. The redhead leaned into the touch, humming a little with a sigh. God, they looked happy. Something fluttered a little in Dean’s chest - contentment, pride. And maybe just a hint of jealousy. Something he pointedly doesn’t examine as he rolled his eyes and rose to his feet.

They always order the same thing - hot wings with blue cheese dressing for Jo, onion rings and garlic fries for Charlie. Sam always has a burger wrapped in lettuce instead of a bun (an offense Dean has long past grown tired of reprimanding him for) and Dean gets the special - double cheeseburger with bacon and a side of mozzarella sticks. He can actually feel his arteries clogging while he eats. Second best feeling in the world.

Ellen is at the bar, studiously taking orders. She scribbles them down in that messy handwriting of hers that somehow her fry cook has learned to decipher over the years. It makes Dean happy to see actually - there’s something of her personality in that chicken scratch. Efficient and thorough, but never giving a shit how it looks to someone on the outside. She smiles at him as he approaches and then calls his usual order to their bartender.

“Gonna regale us all with that honey sweet voice of yours tonight, darling?” She smiles, the edge of her nose crinkling with her eyes.

“Oh sure, you know me. Regular Frank Sinatra.”

“You sell yourself short, Dean. You’ve always had a great voice. Made more than a few of my patrons offer me some cash for your number over the years.”

Dean snorted. “Yea? How much you make?”

“Maybe fifty bucks?” Ellen shrugged, handing him a fresh beer. “You’d be surprised how many of these kids haven’t ever heard of 867-5309.”

“Youths…” Dean deadpans, and takes a swig. He starts stacking the drinks on a free tray to take back when Ellen nods towards the table.

“How’s our girl?”

“You’re her mother,” he said. “Why’re you asking me?”

Ellen rolled her eyes. He’d never tell either of them, but she looks just like Jo when she does it, and he’s really not quite sure who picked up the trait from whom. “You’re sorta her baby daddy, I think you’re in a unique position to tell me how she’s doing.”

He shrugged, the feeling of uselessness seeping into his veins again. The truth was, he’d just kind of assumed she was fine, and hadn’t really checked in with her the bulk of the time Charlie had been pregnant. He’d gotten pretty good at reading her over the years, and maybe it seemed like her gears were spinning a little faster under the surface these days but nothing catastrophic. Dean offered a shrug and Ellen sighed.

“Just - I know she’s not totally better. You know how bad she wanted to be the one to be pregnant.” Ellen waved her hand dismissively, like she was already tired of talking about feelings. He didn’t blame her. “Anyway, you’d let me know if I should worry, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean frowned, looking back at towards their booth. He really should be paying better attention - after all, looking after this family was on him, and he’d…

Oh God. They had another person sitting at the table. He couldn’t see his face as it was turned towards Charlie, but he’d recognize that mop of black hair anywhere.

Someone had invited Cas.

“We good here, sugar?” Ellen patted Dean’s shoulder and gave him a little push. “You’re holdin’ up the line for paying folk.”

He staggered back towards the booth to the shocked and pleased looks of his family. Charlie looked like a kid on Christmas morning, and there was a bright smile across Sam’s face. Jo looked appropriately apologetic, but had enough of an eyebrow raised to know that she secretly was excited. Basically, it was one great big conspiracy to make Dean completely lose his mind. And they were freaking gleeful about it.

Castiel turned with a smile too. He was wearing a button up black shirt that stopped just below the dip in his collar, the skin there glistening with a slight sheen. He scooted closer to Charlie, making room for Dean on the bench.

“Heya Cas,” Dean said, setting the tray down with a thud. Maybe just a bit harder than he meant to.

“Hello Dean,” he replied in that even tone of his, his eyes bright. “I hope you don’t mind, I saw Charlie and Jo earlier today and they invited me. I meant to text you-”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Dean said sincerely, surprising himself. Then he straightened up, suddenly remembering that they had an audience. “Though, uh, has anyone explained to you the rules of karaoke? You might not want to stick around for this bloodbath. It’s a pretty cutthroat game we run out here.”

The game’s been the same for years - everyone puts in a song for everyone else. They tear off little pieces of napkin, each writing their name, and then throw them into Sam’s beanie. Then, who’s ever name you pull, you pick out a song for them to sing up on stage.

“Hey wait, I want in on this too,” Bobby said as he walked up to the table. Everyone but Castiel groaned - if Bobby is playing that means someone is going to have to sing ‘the song’. See, years ago, when they were kids and karaoke night was a handy way for Ellen to work and watch the kids, they would put each other's names down with the most annoying songs they could think of. That aspect hasn’t changed, but one night Bobby got off early and joined the four of them so Sam decided to write in Bobby’s name with a terrible song.

Now - Bobby pointedly does NOT sing. He wasn’t aware that he’d been volunteered until he heard his name ring out over the speakers.

“Next up is Bob Singer with ‘Heaven is a Place on Earth!’”

The look he gave those kids that night scared them right down to their bones. He might have been able to weasel his way out of it, except that it was near closing time, and the whole place was drunk and chanting his name. So up he went to belt out the graveliest, most tone deaf version of Belinda Carlisle the world has ever known.

Ever since then, when Bobby’s around for their night, he always participates. He makes whomever he picks sing ‘Heaven is a Place on Earth’. And whenever he goes up to sing whatever selection has been chosen for him, he instead sings ‘Friends in Low Places’ so loudly and off key to music that doesn’t match that he’s booed off the stage in under a minute.

His grin seems to grow a little wider every time.

Dean’s aware of how close his hand brushes with Castiel’s when they both reach inside to grab a name. And wouldn’t you know his damn luck - he pulls Cas’. It’s like something out of a damn rom-com.

But now he has to think of a song he wants to hear that honey graveled voice sing. He tries not to watch him out of the corner of his eye as he considers, but it’s near impossible. Cas has buried his face in the thick book of songs Jo brought over, scanning and flipping the pages with those practiced fingers. Sometimes he licks them to get them wet because the pages are sticking together. Fuck, that’s distracting. Maybe he needs to de-sex Cas a little through music, make him sing the theme from Sesame Street or something. He looked up at Dean then briefly as if he can read his mind, and flashes a confident half smile.

Ugh that fucker could probably make children's music sound sexy. Damn him.

Dean instead decides to steer into the skid, picking a song he knows will likely kill him to hear from those plush lips - but who cares, right? It will be a good death.

“I suggest you show no mercy, Cas,” Charlie says as she scribbles her selection on the notecard and folds it carefully. “I know you’re the new guy and all but it’s all trial by fire here.”

“Understood,” he said, giving her a wink.

Oh God, Dean’s going to need so much more booze for this.

Ellen seems to sense this and thank God, because his drinks get progressively stronger as the night rolls on. What’s even worse is that Cas gets along  _ so well _ with his entire family. He’s seemed to drop any pretense at all of being “Dr. Novak” and is keeping up with the table banter. If Dean seems uncharacteristically quiet, it’s because he’s mostly watching the way Castiel’s eyes light up at a joke, and feel the heat coming off of his body just scant inches away. It would be so easy to fit him into his life - he’s smart, sincere, funny. He keeps Dean on his toes. Maybe this whole ‘not dating Cas because of the baby on the way’ idea is just a lame farce he’s making up to keep from pursuing the one good thing that’s happened to him in a long time - possibly ever.

Or maybe, he thinks, that’s the four strong drinks talking. Really, it’s hard to tell.

Better scootch a little closer to Cas to find out.

Their thighs brush as Dean tries what he thinks is a subtle way of shifting closer in the booth. Cas notices him right away, his sharp eyes suddenly darting from the dimly lit stage to Dean’s body, now in much closer proximity. Dean doesn’t say a word, just keeps one hand flat on the table, the rest of his body turned towards the old dude singing “Ooops I Did It Again”. But he’s hyper aware of the quicker breath at the back of his neck. He swallows whiskey until the heat in his stomach matches the heat at his back.

Sam is called first, excitedly making his way to the stage. Behind him, he can hear a soft chuckle.

“I don’t know if I did this right, but this song reminded me of two brothers so I thought he’d like it,” Cas whispered into the shell of Dean’s ear. He tried not to melt back into him, instead just nodding.

It’s a Beatles song, “The Two of Us” (one of Dean’s favorites, actually) and Sam happily sings his way through it. He hasn’t had nearly as much to drink as Dean, and actually gives a little wave at him with the line “You and I have memories, longer than the road that stretches out ahead.” It’s cute, really, and there's a soft flutter of fondness in Dean’s stomach with the knowledge that Cas picked out something that would please both him and Sam. Castiel is this strange mix of non judgemental sharpness and simple kindness. He couldn’t easily be taken for a fool, but he’s absolutely a giver, wanting those around him to be at ease and happy. It’s a life philosophy that Dean realizes (in his somewhat inebriated state) he makes an attempt to follow - do no harm, but take no shit. Well, maybe do a little harm - but only when provoked.

Jo’s up next, smiling her way through “Crazy on You.” Her expression lights up as she takes the microphone, her blond hair pulled back, the lights from the bottom of the stage making the muscles in her throat stand out. She’s not half bad either, which is saying something for someone trying to sound like Nancy Wilson. Little less strong, and at a higher tone - she actually sounds better when she’s harmonizing with the song in Dean’s car. Dean glances back at Charlie who’s absolutely enthralled with her wife, a dopey grin on her face. She’s even got a french fry posed in her right hand like she’s going to eat it but has completely forgotten. Dean reaches over and yanks it to her shock, popping it into his own mouth.

“Rude, Winchester,” she said with a smile, turning her attention back to Jo.  

A few more customers are called, and drinks get refilled. By the time Castiel is called Dean is officially not in a state to drive, but absolutely in a state to holler like an idiot as Cas makes his way to the stage.

“Drunk Dean is pretty damn obvious,” Jo said, nudging his shoulder.

Dean turns his head to reply, but the movement momentarily knocked him off balance. “Uh, your mom is obvious,” he replied, then raised a celebratory fist. “Nailed it.”

The song begins and Dean takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself against the table as the room is officially beginning to waver. We aren’t quite at spinning yet, so that’s a win. Castiel has a confident swagger as he sings out, “Don’t let me down!”.

“Ooo, good choice Dean,” Sam said. “Great old Beatles tune.”

But as he continues to sing (“I’m in love for the first time, don’t you know it’s gonna last.”) something in the confidence that’s been pouring off of Cas in waves begins to fade. Dean had selected this song because it’s off of  _ Let it Be _ , one of the albums he saw in Cas’ office a few months ago. And yea, also because part of him was hoping that he’d growl out John Lennon’s lyrics like they were bubbling up from his guts. He wanted to see Cas visceral and dark again.

Castiel’s features are painted with mirrors of expressions from that night, but instead it’s cagey and nervous, like he’s exposed part of himself he’d rather tuck away. He makes his way through the song, but the man who walked up on stage isn’t the same one that walked off.

To Dean’s surprise, no one else seems to notice his discomfort. They all cheer and clap and pat him on the back as he returns to the booth. His half smile could be interpreted as sheepish following his performance. But Dean knows better.

Charlie’s up next, and Dean and Cas move out of the booth to let her labor out and make her way to the stage. Sam’s picked “Barbie Girl” for her, which would normally be hilarious (especially because Sam runs up to sing the dude part) but Dean only has eyes for Cas, whose arm he touches lightly before they return to the booth. (At least he hopes it’s lightly, he’s still three sheets to the wind.)

“Hey, uh, I’m sorry,” he manages to spit out, fighting against the way his head is spinning. Focus, Winchester, focus - this is important. “I think I fucked up?”

He’s actually not sure what he wants to say as the layers of booze he’s consumed seem to be hitting him stronger in a standing up position. Castiel gives a half smile though, as if he understands. “It’s fine Dean. Just - an old memory.”

“I hate it when you look like that,” Dean blurts out. Some small part of his brain is trying to rein him in, but he can’t help continuing. “Who hurt you, Cas? I’ll kill em’.”

Castiel squints at him and for a moment, Dean thinks he might actually be angry. But his expression softens and he let his hand brush against Dean’s arm softly. “You’re more perceptive than you give yourself credit for, Dean. Even when you’re inebriated.”

“I mean it Cas, I’ll knock them out. You just point me in a direction. You deserve, just, the best person, you know?” Deans fairly sure he’s rambling now, but it hardly matters seeing as he just proud that he’s getting words out in what he thinks are complete sentences.

“You always so protective with your friends?”

Castiel might be teasing, his eyebrows lifting slightly. But Dean can’t hear it as he rushes to clarify in a solemn tone, “Only the ones I really care about. That’s my job. Thats - that’s the only thing I’m good at.”

“I can think of a number of other things you are good at.” Castiel is grinning a little wider now, the melancholy wiped from his face as he watches Dean. God, he’s handsome. The lights from the stage made him sweat a bit and he’s darker at the temples where his hair is starting to curl. Dean’s hands twitch, wanting to reach out and push the strands behind his ear.

“You were good, at - things….” he replies intelligently.

“Next up is Dean Winchester, singing ‘Heaven is a Place on Earth!’”

The bar explodes into cheers and laughter. Even Castiel burst out laughing as Charlie returns to the booth and - did she just slip her hand into Dean’s pocket?

“Gonna record this for posterity, Dean-o! You’ll thank me tomorrow!”

He doesn’t really get a chance to respond before he’s pushed through the crowd towards the stage. Someone sort of blurry hands him a shot of tequila and a warm, heavy microphone. His body on autopilot, he throws the shot back in a single swallow. He breathes fire outward, the world around him narrowing to the sound of the music beginning, and across the room the voice of Bobby laughing so hard he’d about bust a gut.

He opens his mouth, and starts “Ooooo baby, do you know what that’s worth?”

And that’s it. That's the last thing Dean remembers before he completely blacks out.

* * *

 

He awakens with a headache so bad it feels like he’s underwater. Worse than that, actually because underwater you have the added bonus of the coolness of water - instead he’s sweat through his shirt and top sheet. He’s been hungover before but it’s been years (think, early twenties, new to the drinking game and curious what an Audios Mother Fucker was number of years) since he’s felt this near to clinical death.

Someone who he will later thank with hard earned cash had blissfully pulled his shades closed so his room is only a fraction as bright as it could have been. He stretched gingerly, trying to decipher if he’s injured further than his pounding head. To his surprise, he finds that he’s been completely stripped to a sleep shirt and boxers. He doesn’t even have socks on. And while he thinks Sammy is a really great brother, he is doubtful he would do anything more than unceremoniously drop Dean into bed and make sure he wasn’t face down so he couldn’t accidentally suffocate.

His hand jerks out quickly to his nightstand to grab his phone and start to piece together what the hell actually happened last night. The last thing he remembered was sauntering up on stage to sing ‘the song’ and then - nothing. Not even a blip. Shame flares in his gut - he hadn’t meant to get quite  _ that _ hammered, just enough to ease the sting of Castiel so close, so  _ available _ and yet not at all.

Instead he probably made a proper ass of himself. God, how many different ways was he going to try to screw himself out of this friendship? He groaned as he hit the little button on the side, the screen lighting up to show - himself?

“Oh fuck,” he grumbled, getting an eyeful of his wrinkled and sleepy expression. Boy is he glad he woke up alone - no one should have to be subjected to his mug when he’s this hungover. He closed one eye to focus and hits the stop button.

Only then does he realize that the damn thing had been  _ recording _ .


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: I did do research on how long a recording could go, and I'm stretching the limits here, but it is (in theory) possible. Same with battery life. Forgive my creative licence, and enjoy.

Well, that's a rude damn awakening.

He sat straight up and groaned as the pulsing pressure on his brain doubled. He fiddled with his phone to get into his gallery. The top picture is a video, the little thumbnail clearly a view from the booth of the stage. With his heart in his throat, he hit play.

The sound quality is terrible, but it's probably the best part of what he’s witnessing. He can hear himself just fine, and  _ oh Christ _ does he sound awful. His voice was like two cats in heat in a back alley and he just wants to set himself on fire just listening to it. It's hard to watch too, frankly, not only because of his awkward gyrations (what the hell was he thinking?!) but the shakiness of the camera as Charlie (and the rest of the table) heckle and holler at Dean. He strained to hear anything from Castiel but he’s oddly absent from the voices carrying on.

Dean hit the little icon to pause and to see if the damn thing truly recorded  _ all night _ . At the bottom of the screen, little white letters read “14 hours”. This is the sort of thing nightmares are made of.

He’s going to need  _ so much _ coffee for this. Possibly all of the coffee in the house, and then some from their neighbor.

Luckily his brother is one of the more intelligent men in the world and the earthy aroma hits his nose as he opens the door. Gabriel is suddenly there at his feet, jumping a little with excitement (what the hell he’s excited about, Dean has no idea) and knocking his cold wet nose against Dean’s shin.

“Oh good, I wasn’t sure you were gonna survive the night,” Sam said as Dean stumbled into the kitchen. Sam is the picture of health - just come back from a run, his skin flush, his shirt wet with perspiration and his long, dumb hair pulled into a “man bun” Dean swears he’s going to cut off one of these days. If Sam gets any more chipper, today might be that day.

Dean doesn’t answer exactly, just grunts as he pours himself a cup in the biggest mug he can find. There's a loaf of sourdough bread on the counter and fuck it, he just takes a slice and starts chewing, needing to get something in his system before he downs the maximum dose of Advil. Its dry and tasteless in his mouth, but it's better than a stomach ache later, and he’s just awake enough to make at least one good decision.

Sam’s always been pretty decent at self preservation, so he just quietly gets up from the table, goes into Dean’s room, and comes back with the little bottle and sets it in front of him. Then goes back to reading on his kindle.

It's about twenty minutes before Dean begins to feel human. The drugs and caffeine kick in and the fog lifts. He actually gets up and starts making himself real food (bacon and eggs, and then more bacon) and some extra to offer to Sam.

“It’s the least I can do for dragging my sorry ass back last night,” he said, turning the slices over in the pan.  A tiny bit of grease spat out and hit his thumb - he took the digit into his mouth and oh, his stomach grumbled loudly with the promise of sweet sweet bacon grease.

“Jesus man, you really must have been out of it if you don’t remember,” Sam answered, not looking up from his reading. “I didn’t bring you home. Cas did.”

If there was a record playing in Dean’s brain, it would have just made that horrible screeching to a stop noise.

“Uh - come again?” he asked, turning off the heat to the burner to face Sam.

There are times when his brother can be incredible perspective and thoughtful, like when he’s dealing with clients and their loved ones. He was great when Charlie and Jo were trying to get pregnant. It's been one thing that Dean has counted on since they were little - that Sam just kinda ‘gets’ how Dean is feeling most of the time, even if he doesn’t agree with it.

This was not one of those times.

“Yeah you were wasted after you sang ‘the song’,” Sam laughed and stood to refill his coffee. Dean hadn’t moved an inch. “Cas actually had to help you off the stage!”

Some small part of Dean’s brain registered this as the reason why he didn’t hear Castiel’s voice amongst the heckling. The other part of his brain was too busy spinning in circles, trying to comprehend that he spent an evening with Castiel - and didn’t remember a damn thing.

“He was tired, said he was leaving anyway, and it was like, I dunno, ten or so?” Sam sat down and leaned back casually. “I wasn’t ready to go, so Cas said he’d take you home and I’d drive the Impala back. He’s a nice guy, Dean. Seemed like you guys hit it off. How come you haven’t really mentioned him?”

Dean’s brain was still sputtering, but he managed to reply. “Because there wasn’t much to mention. Just a one night stand and he ended up being Charlie’s doctor. Big whoop.”

That caught Sam’s attention. “Hold on, what?! I thought you just met him at the doctor's office? And you didn’t think to mention that before?! When was this!?”

Dean rubbed a hand across his face. He really didn’t want to have this conversation right now - he really just wanted to refill his coffee cup, and retreat to the darkness of his room for the next 14 hours to watch the little recording from last night and hope to whatever deity is watching over them all that he didn’t make a complete ass of himself. Given what he’s already seen, the chances are slim to none.

“Don’t make it a thing, Sammy. It was the night before I made my first ‘deposit’ and it was a mistake.”

Sam furrowed his brow, and oh, that is the last damn thing Dean needs this morning is sympathy from the moose. “Dean, I remember that morning. You were really sad. I thought it was about the donation but - it was about Cas, wasn’t it?”

Dean sighed. “Look, I don’t need to be therapized on this, okay? It’s too early, my head is pounding, and it’s not a big deal. We had a good night together, but I decided I didn’t want to date anyone until I had figured out how I want to handle this thing with Charlie and Jo, okay? That’s my priority right now, not my sad excuse for a love life.” Sam looked even more crestfallen, so Dean moved to the coffee pot resolutely, refilling his mug. “That’s it, okay? Now leave it alone.”

“Yeah, okay Dean.” Sam said, his voice quiet and measured. “Just - I’m here if you want to talk.”

Dean closed his eyes and took a breath, letting his shoulders sag a bit. Anymore it’s hard for him to stay mad at Sam - not just because they live in such close quarters, but because the kid never stops trying to help, and he’s so annoyingly sincere. “I know, Sam. I know.” He rested his hand on Sam’s shoulder briefly and gave it a squeeze. “You know I’d rather pry my toenails off with pliers than talk about it, but I appreciate the sentiment. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go back to bed.”

He heard Sam huff a laugh, and the clinking of Gabriel's collar before he closed the door to his room.

* * *

 

It took him twenty minutes, a shower, a change of clothes, and a nip from the fifth of Jack he kept hidden in his sock drawer (What? Hair of the dog that bit you is actual science…) before he had the courage to hit play.

After the song, it looked as if Charlie had set the phone down on the table to clap and holler. The screen focused on the wood and rust ceiling of the roadhouse, but he could still hear the table talking.

“Is he - is Cas actually helping Dean back to the table?” Sam said, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“I’m telling you Sammy, the guy’s an actual angel” came the reply from a female voice. Must be Charlie, but the ambient noise from the recording made it hard to tell the difference. Then there’s more mumbling and then, oh God, he could hear himself.

“I said, did it hurt, Cas?” He was practically shouting, and if the speakers could pick him up this well, that meant he was probably blowing out Castiel’s eardrums. “Cas? Cas - this is where you say ‘did what hurt?’”

Castiel’s grumbled voice came across the speakers, more amused than annoyed. “Ok - did what hurt, Dean?”

“Because you’re an angel! GET IT?”

He groaned. This is worse than he thought it would be.

“I think my brother is trying to say ‘When you fell from heaven’, but you’ll forgive him if his game is a little off at the moment,” Sam said, after the bastard had finished laughing.

“I gathered as much.” Cas still sounds something bordering affectionate. He wishes the camera would turn already so he can see himself. At this point it feels safe to assume he’s just a slobbering drunk hanging on Cas.

“I actually have to call it a night early,” Cas calls out, to the protests from both women. “Want me to give him a ride?”

“Oh sure yeah man, that’d be great. If it’s not any trouble.”

In the background, Dean can hear himself make an attempt to start singing again. This time he seems to have picked “Shake it off” which honestly isn’t much of an improvement from ‘the song’. It’s likely his drunken attempt to subtly hit on Cas. And it makes him want to die even more.

“Oh he’s definitely trouble, just the kind I can handle.”

Everyone laughs. But Dean hears the innuendo in it and his stomach drops.

“Oh!” Suddenly there’s action on the screen as Charlie says, “Don’t forget his phone!”. For a brief moment he can see her face, then the camera is turned slightly and - there. He pauses it  to make sure, just before the screen goes black in the darkness of his pocket. As he suspected - he’s hanging all over Castiel. Well, maybe hanging is the wrong word. Castiel has his arm wrapped around Dean’s waist, pulled in tight as if he’s holding him up. Dean’s arm is wrapped around Castiel’s shoulders and his head is lolling a bit towards him like it might slump forward. All in all, other than the way his eyes are half closed and his grin is lopsided, they actually look in that moment like they could be a couple.

It hurts to look at as much as it sends a thrill through his spine. He can’t deny that they just sort of ‘fit’. Because he’s a masochist, he takes a screenshot, then hits play.

The screen goes black and he can hear the rustling of fabric as he walks. He seems manage to get himself into Castiel’s car just fine, even somewhat soberly remarking what a fine Prius it was, before bursting out laughing.

“Just kidding dude, your car is ridiculous,” he snorted.

“Are you always so complimentary when you’re wasted?”

They banter back and forth for a time, and while Dean seems to avoid making a complete ass of himself, none of what he actually is saying makes sense. There’s no sound of the engine turning off, but he does hear the sound of a car door closing, and a monumental attempt at fitting the key into the lock (complete with innuendo from Dean) before Castiel clearly grabs the key and lets them in.

There’s another rustle and suddenly the screen is lit up almost completely. It’s such a stark contrast from the black in his dimly lit room he has to blink to refocus on the brightness. There’s movement above the camera and then he can finally make out what’s happening - Castiel is helping him get undressed. A blush starts at his neck. He feels modest, somehow, as he watches, as if Castiel hasn’t already seen him in a complete state of undress.

“You know, the last time you were in my bedroom…” Dean’s speech is slurred and he doesn’t finish his sentence as he’s helped into bed. Castiel steps into the frame and sits beside him, humming a little like he’s trying to shush and settle. He leaned forward, crowding Dean momentarily to puff the pillow around his head. The light is low from Dean’s bedside lamp, but it only highlights the fondness in his face. How Cas could possibly feel any kind of affection for Dean after his behavior and that car ride is beyond him - but there it is, plain as day.

“I remember,” he said, his voice a little forlorn. He seemed to shake himself and then get to his feet. “I should go, Dean. Sleep well.”

“Wait!” Dean’s arm shot out across the frame and grabbed at Castiel’s. “Stay! Jus’ ‘til I sleep.”

Dean doesn’t think in his life he’s ever asked that of anyone, including those he’s been intimate with. Not that he hasn’t wanted to, it's just - he’s the caretaker, not the caretakee. He was so secretly grateful that Castiel had stuck around after their night together though, he wasn’t entirely surprised Drunk-as-Hell Dean wanted him close, just for a little longer.

“Alright.” And then Cas is on his screen again, that same fond look in his eyes. He reached out and brushed a few strands of hair from Dean’s forehead, watching him carefully. Dean wished he could see his own expression (he could only hope he wasn’t already passed out and drooling) but the pillow sort of blocked his view from the floor. He took another screenshot anyway of Castiel’s face while he looked at him.

“You really are something, Dean Winchester,” Cas mused as he continued to card his hands through Dean’s hair. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

“Mmmm got a few ‘deas,” Dean murmured, the smile in his voice evident.

Castiel grinned. “I’m sure you do. But we’re supposed to be  _ just friends _ .”

“Pfft,” Dean spit, dragging it out far too long. “Jus friends give eachothrrr BJs all the time!”

Castiel just kept smiling and nodding, affectionately continuing his ministrations. He’s quiet for a long while, watching Dean fall asleep. In fact, Dean is finally starting to relax as it seems like the evening is coming to a close and there is a very good chance he fell asleep without saying anything else asinine. But it’s an odd thing, watching Castiel watch him. He felt like he’d gotten to know Cas over the last few months, or at least, he’d seen many different sides of him. He’s seen Cas confident and sexy. He’s seen him professional and attentive. He’s seen him righteously angry, spitting fire. He likes what little of his goofy side he’s shown him. But this was new, and Dean supposed he must have been passed out at this point for Cas to look at him that way. It was so raw, so stripped of any other mask he may wear.

When Cas began to speak, low and in hushed tones, it startled Dean before he quickly fumbled to turn up the volume.

“I don’t think I could ever impart to you what that night meant to me, Dean,” he whispered. Dean’s pulse began to race. “I was - I was in a bad place. My divorce papers had come in that afternoon.”

The bottom dropped out of Dean’s stomach, but he somehow managed to hang onto the phone.

“I never thought Meg would actually go through with it, to be honest,” he said with a dry laugh. His hand continued to smooth across Dean’s hair gently, his touch featherlight. “I just - needed to be someone else for that night. And there you were, beautiful and bold. I noticed you the moment you walked in.”

Sleeping Dean hummed a little, moving his head to Castiel’s touch but didn’t wake or respond. Castiel’s mouth parted to a fond grin, before he dropped his hand to Dean’s chest. He started the same gentle strokes there, back and forth, as if to soothe. His hand was practiced at this, and Dean remembered that in working with pregnant women he must also work with babies. Something warm fluttered in Dean’s chest at the thought of Castiel tenderly helping him to sleep with his same loving touch.

“I’m so used to watching everyone - but you,” he sighed gently. “Without knowing me -  you just saw me. I can never thank you enough for that - I felt human again.” He paused, then, quieter, “Wanted again.”

Dean ached with regret - how the fuck could he have missed this? The melancholy in Castiel’s voice was tangible, and he wanted to shake his 14-hour-ago self in frustration. He sat on his bed feeling a new brand of uselessness. If only he could will his previous self to sit up and fucking hug Cas or something. God, Cas had no idea how badly Dean  _ wanted _ . It was like a slow burning fire inside of him he kept trying to douse with strawfuls of water.

That seemed to be it for Castiel’s speech, though he stayed another few minutes. In the end, he leaned forward and kissed Dean’s forehead gently, letting his lips linger the space of a few breaths before rising and departing without another word.

Dean fast forwarded from there, until an hour or so later when he saw some movement on the screen. He backed up just enough to catch the beginning of it, but it was just Sam. He grumbled something about the electricity bill and reached over to turn off the light before catching sight of Dean’s phone on the ground.

He brought it close to his face which was scrunched, half asleep and apparently didn’t recognize that the damn thing was still recording. “What would you do without me?” he wondered aloud as he plugged it in, and shut off the light. The rest of the recording was just darkness slowly rolling into dawn, and then Dean’s own hungover mug fiddling with it.

Dean quietly set down the phone and laid back against his headboard. His headache had mostly subsided, thankfully, but now he felt a sickness in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with last night’s binge. Cas liked him. Not just that - Cas had felt it too. That intense, unexplainable fire that burned between them. That pulled them together like gravity. He’d always thought falling in love was a series of explainable connections; you both like Greek food and monster truck derbies. Or you both enjoy the opera and sand between your toes. But it was always based on established patterns in your life, and how well they’d compliment the other person - that’s how affection grew.

But Cas - it was instantaneous and strong. And without any logical reason. He just wanted to be near Cas, learn his favorite food, what he liked to dance to, how he lost his virginity, all of it - but yet, none of it really mattered. Something within Dean found its echo within Cas. And despite everything, how complicated the whole shebang of his life is - maybe that’s worth exploring.

Before he could think too much more about it, he pulled up Castiel’s name and shot off a text.

**If you still want to know me at all after last night, I would like to make it up to you with a strong cup of coffee sometime.**

He started at his phone for a few minutes expecting to see a reply right away (if he was going to get one at all) but nothing came. He swallowed disappointment with cold coffee and more advil, and decided to try do some laundry so the day wasn’t a total waste.

* * *

 

Its hours later, when he’s sitting with Sam and they’re catching up on _ Game of Thrones  _ that his phone finally chirps with a message. He tried not to make an ass of himself scrambling to read it, but he fumbled the phone and it ends up on the ground. Sam’s eyeroll is practically audible.

_ I think you’re quite a charming drunk, though your opinion on electric vehicles is a bit archaic. Unfortunately I’m at a medical conference in Chicago for the week - raincheck? _

**Absolutely, hit me up when you’re back ;)**

He can wait a week - after all, he’s waited this long. He settled back into the couch and fired off another message before hitting play.

**For the record, sober Dean has a lot of opinions on electric vehicles too.**

_ Can’t wait. _


	9. Chapter 9

Its another week before he gets to see Cas again. And Dean absolutely does not spend it mentally pacing through every action. He does not.

But Dean’s problem has always been that he’s open like a book - his variances in moods are easily absorbed by the people around him. By the end of the week, he’s pissed off three of his co-workers, at least half a dozen children, and Jo. Sam’s still talking to him, but just barely, and only because he was around to witness the aftermath of “the video”. But it’s Friday night and his patience is running thin.

“Why don’t you just call him?” he said with melodramatic flair. His attitude made Dean grit his teeth. “You already know he likes you - this isn’t rocket science.”

Sam sat on their old leather couch, his sweatpants pulled up to his knees. It's just approaching too warm in the house on account of the oven being on. Dean had a craving for green bean casserole and even the particularly brazen spring day wasn’t going to keep him from French’s fried onion goodness. He also made potatoes and chicken, because he’s not a savage.

“You don’t just - it’s different with guys, Sam. You can’t-” he hesitated, realizing part of the way through his statement that he really doesn’t have a good frame of reference on “dating” men. Just fucking them. He gives up the ghost, getting up from his chair with a sigh. “I was going to text him later. It’s casual, anyway.”

“Oh yeah, that’s the word I’d use to describe you lately -  _ casual _ .” Sam smirked, but left the subject alone. At least Dean had that going for him - in the years that they’d lived this bachelor life together, they’d gotten better and better at being best friends. Sam had always been his friend, don’t get him wrong. But growing up, a sibling is in some ways an adversary, especially between two strapping young men. After Jess died, some of that machismo died down for both of them - maybe they finally saw the futility in it. Now they both see those opportunities to push each other’s buttons and, for the most part, move right past them. Mostly.

In the end, it was closer to bedtime before Dean finally got the nerve to text Cas again. He’d been wracking his brain all week, trying to decide on the perfect “date”. Not that he’d officially call it that. Maybe he felt like he had to go the extra mile to impress Cas after that disaster of karaoke. Either way, he wanted their “meet up for coffee” to be as perfect as possible.

**Hey - if you’re back in town and up for it, I still owe you that coffee. What do ya say?**

It’s the “what do ya say?” that he was most proud of. Doesn’t that sound like he couldn’t care less? He smiled to himself as he hit send. Castiel’s reply was almost immediate, and Dean’s heart sped up a beat. You know, in a really casual way.

_ I’d love to - I’ve got some free time in the morning tomorrow. Where should we meet? _

Dean texted the place he’d decided on - a little beat up coffee shop on the more urban side of town. It wasn’t exactly his style, but there was a record shop about a block up the road, and figured after they grabbed coffee, maybe they could go look at records together. Possibly that sort of date would seem casual enough to sort of evolve into something else.

Maybe they’d stand a little too close in the tightly packed row, and Dean would watch Cas’ strong hands part and sort the vinyl. Or maybe he’d stand a few feet away, pretending to look at his own stack, catching quick glances of blue eyes as they moved through each record with quick, decisive action. He could see them picking out a record together - something classic rock, with a smooth, heavy melody like the Moody Blues. Cas would invite him back over to his house - which would be immaculate like his office, but homey and comfortable. They’d sit back on his leather couch together, thighs brushing, letting the music carry them away. Not saying a word - just being in each other’s space. He’d feel it in his gut - the baseline, and the way his body gravitated towards Castiel like he was in his orbit. Hands - touching hands - reaching out….

“Sweet Caroline…” he muttered with a smile. He put his phone on the nightstand to charge and got ready for bed.

* * *

 

The word of the day was “decisive”.

When Dean got up that morning, he spent very little time getting himself ready. Partially because he was running late, but mostly because he’d decided to be, well, decisive. He pulled a black, blank t-shirt of the drawer - done. His favorite pair of jeans - done. Hair spiked a little - done. No fuss, no muss. He wasn’t stumbling on every decision, because he felt like he’d already made the most important one.

He was going to tell Cas that he liked him.

Liked him more than just as a friend. That much should be obvious by now, by the way he acted, however idiotic. But it was more than that - it was a decision he made, for once, with only him in mind. He’s not worrying about how soon it is after Jess’ death, or that Bobby is recovering from knee surgery or that Ellen needed him to pick up a few shifts at the Roadhouse. And he wasn’t worried about how Cas would feel about getting into a relationship with someone who’s about to be a very unusual kind of uncle.

The decision filled his confidence like a balloon and he practically floated in the door of the crowded shop.

Cas was nowhere to be found, but Dean was right on time. Maybe Cas was running a little late. He didn’t want to buy a coffee yet though, because after all, he owed one to Castiel. And this would be a pretty crappy date if he let him buy his own coffee. Does that work when you date men too? He should have talked to someone first. Or at least googled it.

He was so lost in thought he didn’t see Castiel walk up until he was right behind him and resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Hello, Dean.”

God, had his voice always been that smooth? Like a hot knife through butter. Dean couldn’t help the way his face broke into a huge smile as he turned. Should they hug? Were they at that friend stage? The decision was made for him as Castiel reached out and pulled him close. He felt so solid, so warm. Dean took a deep breath, memorizing that light, citrus scent. He was tempted to nuzzle into his neck. He held himself in check and pulled away.

“So from the hug I’m guessing you don’t hate me?” Dean said.

Castiel scoffed. Dean liked how his eyes rolled back a little when he did that. “You didn’t kill my cat, Dean. You got a little drunk. I think our friendship can survive that.”

Dean threw up his hands dramatically. “Oh no, you have a cat. All bets are off. We’re done here.”

Cas leaned in close, a smile on his lips. “I didn’t think you were afraid of pussy, but I guess it’s possible to have a change of heart.”

Dean choked a little and threw his head back in laughter. He reached out, putting his hand on the small of Castiel’s back and turning them towards the counter to order. Cas went with his lead, and it felt so natural to fall into step together. “Yep Cas, you’ve turned me. I’ve gone full gay. That’s the power of your cock.”

Castiel shrugged playfully. “Nice to know it’s good for something.”

* * *

 

Everything was so damn easy with Cas. They ordered the same thing, made the same kind of jokes. The coffee was delicious (damn these hipsters and their excellent taste) and though the quiche felt a hair too metro for Dean, he squelched his deep seated machismo and enjoyed the mixture of pastry dough, bacon and cheese.

It was in the lulls though that Dean could sense something was off. Cas was doing a fantastic job hiding it, whatever it was, but Dean could see it nonetheless. A hesitation, hardening his sharp features when he wasn’t preoccupied with their discussion. It had to be something about their last night together - he didn’t think Cas was mad at him, but maybe he was worried that Dean had remembered some of what he’d said, and it made his divorce the big elephant in the room.

Cutting his story about their latest adventure to satisfy a Chinese food craving of Charlie’s short, he decided to face the issue head on. After all he was now Dean Winchester - decisive action guy.

“So, that night, that you took me home,” he started. Castiel’s expression changed in an instant, all of his focus on Dean. “I was pretty gone. I didn’t remember a thing. I didn’t even remember that it was you.”

“You didn’t miss much,” Cas chuckled, taking another sip of his coffee. In his peripheral, two elderly ladies approached the table beside theirs. Their full mugs sloshed over the sides a little as they sat, slowly lowering themselves, then falling the last few inches into the wooden chairs with a creak. Dean hadn’t noticed really but the time they’d spent talking, the coffee shop has become more crowded - the ambient noise level had rose significantly. He briefly considered taking this conversation outside, but they were only halfway done with their coffees and besides, he wasn’t really afraid to admit his feeling to Cas in front of a couple of strangers.

He was far more nervous about admitting those feelings to Cas.

“I guess when I got up for karaoke, Charlie decided to film my ‘performance’.” He used his fingers in air quotes to exaggerate. Castiel nodded. “And uh, then my phone kept recording. For the rest of the night.”

There was a slow dawning of realization that came across Castiel’s face. At first, his eyebrows quirked sharply with amusement and then his eyes grew wide and he said, quite simply, “Oh.”

Dean leaned back in his chair a little, reaching to scratch his neck. “So I heard everything.”

“I see.” For the first time that day, Castiel looked down and wouldn’t reach Dean’s gaze. He ran his finger along the edge of his mug and was silent. It didn’t feel like a good kind of silent. At all.

“But I don’t care, that you’re going through a divorce,” Dean said quickly to ease Castiel’s mind. “I mean, I do care. I care that you’re upset. But I mean, for us. I mean as far as we are concerned, it doesn’t matter.”

“But see, it does matter,” Castiel still wouldn’t look up. The hair on the top of his head was thick. So was the horrible feeling in Dean’s stomach. “I - um, I’m not exactly divorced. Yet. Well, as divorced as I was a week ago.”

The words were like a gut punch, and Dean took a sharp breath, trying to seem unphased. “You’re going to have to explain to me what that actually means.”

So Cas did. He finally managed to look up and meet Dean’s eyes. His were melancholy and resolved - something of that spark that had lit behind them when they talked was dulled almost completely.

“I met Meg in high school - our freshman year, social sciences.” Cas said. “She was in every way my opposite. I was on the debate team, she played rugby. I listened to classic rock, she listened to gangster rap. I prefer sweet, she prefers savory. There’s nothing about us that should work, and yet,” he sighed. “We did. On some level. We were the cliche high school sweethearts.”

“And now?” Dean asked. Not that he wanted to know.

“Well, we got married because - we’d been together since we were thirteen. It seemed like the thing to do,” he continued. “That was always the life my parents had pictured for me - get married, become a doctor, have babies, white picket fence. You know the drill.”

“So I take it they didn’t know about your male proclivities?”

Cas frowned. “I mean, I don’t think they would have disowned me but no, it never came up. Because I never acted on it.”

“Wait wait wait,” Dean threw up a hand, swallowing the flop in his stomach. “You were with Meg since you were thirteen and you’re just now getting a divorce-”

“Well, not quite-”

“Ok but - I need to know,” Dean said carefully, closing his hand and laying it on the table. “Was I your - uh, first dude?”

Castiel took a long look at Dean, his expression unreadable. “No, Dean. You weren’t. There were not many before you but you were not the first.”

Something inside of Dean couldn’t decide if he was happy or sad about that. But he didn’t dwell, murmuring “Ok” and nodding his head to continue.

“Meg and I have broken up before. Once in college before we were married - that’s where the bulk of my male experiences come from - and then once again about a year into marriage, but that was only for a few days.”

Dean struggled to try to get his bearings. Decisive action Dean had decisively, and it seemed permanently, departed. In his place was a very pathetic individual who was struggling, moment to moment to not run from the building. None of this was of course Castiel’s fault. After all, he’d been with this woman for half of his life - he’d barely known Dean half of a year. In the grand scheme of things, she did seem like the better horse to bet on long term.

But something in Castiel’s tone was not matching his eyes. And it killed Dean to see him this way - so raw and broken. Like he was a failure at life.

“Why try again, Cas?” Dean said gently, leaning his body forward. “I get it, that you two have history but - does she make you happy?”

“She’s my wife.” Cas’ words were empty of emotion, and final. But it didn’t escape Dean that he hadn’t answered the question.

“I have to - I owe it to her, to myself, to give this a shot. If she’s willing.” Cas sighed, taking another sip of his coffee. It must be cold by now. “I don’t - I don’t know where that leaves us. But there it is, my big secret.”

“It's a doozy,” Dean said in a tone softer than he felt. He swallowed down the growing ache in his gut. “But it’s not a big deal. I mean, if you don’t want to try to be friends, I get it. No harm done. I promise to actually be civil this time.”

Castiel’s head shot up. “I didn’t mean that I didn’t want to be friends. Unless, you don’t want to be-”

“No, I do,” Dean said quickly. “I like - it’s just easy with you, Cas.”

Belatedly it occurred to him how strange of a phrase that really was. But Castiel just nodded and said, “Yeah.” Which made perfect sense. Dean reached across the table and rested his hand on Castiel's wrist gently. His skin was warm, smooth to the touch. He refrained from running his fingers up and down his hand and instead just gripped it tightly, reassuringly.

“I’m good at the friend thing. If you need em, I’ve got lots of references.”

Castiel laughed a little sadly, but his expression relaxed. “I don’t know, you didn’t hear the things they were saying about you when you were trashed.”

“Oh, but I did.” Dean said with a smile. “ _ Everything _ was recorded, including them. So, they’ve had a lot to answer for in the last week.”

He pulled his hand back reluctantly, but Castiel seemed a fraction less tense. They eventually finished their chilled coffee, and Dean convinced him to take a walk down to the record shop. And although it wasn’t the innuendo, sexual tension filled trip he’d wanted it to be, it still put a smile on Castiel’s face. And that was at least something Dean was good at.

Nevermind that he was devastated. Nevermind that he quietly swept up the pieces of his heart and put it back on the shelf. He wasn’t going to try to win Cas by fighting his wife. And although it was plain to see, at least to Dean, how heavy Castiel’s heart was with this decision, he wasn’t about to attempt to talk him out of it. He didn’t want to gain Cas by convincing him he was the better choice. Even if that was true.

So they spent their morning together, and when they departed it was with the promise that they’d be in touch. Really soon.

But Dean didn’t hear from Cas again until a month later.


	10. Chapter 10

“It’s not too late to change your mind, Charlie.”

“Oh, I think we’re way past the point of no return, Winchester.”

Charlie rolled gracelessly off of the couch. She landed on her knees with a soft whump, then put up a hand to stop anyone from helping her, pulling herself up with a deep breath to standing using the couch. In all, the action took about a minute and Dean couldn’t decide if it was hilarious or a little sad. Probably both.

“You guys grew up at the Roadhouse, we got engaged at the Roadhouse, we had our reception at the Roadhouse - why wouldn’t we have a baby shower there? Now one-side soldier, tiny bladder comin’ through.” She leaned back and pressed her palms against the small of her back as she waddled down the hall. Charlie had just passed her seven months mark, and according to the book Dean’s been reading (ok, skimming), she’s about to start really showing. Baby is less “developing” now and more “bulking up”. He snickered at the thought of his little niece in the womb with a set of dumbbells. But looking at Charlie, it was hard to imagine how much larger of a belly she could sustain on that tiny frame.

They’d gathered at Jo and Charlie’s house for a “Baby Shower Eve” dinner. Dean supposed that wasn’t actually a thing - more a way for Jo and Charlie to escape the last minute frantic planning of Ellen and her friend Jody.

Jo was on call number five since Dean and Sam had arrived. And beer number three.

Their place was sizeable, and really open. Between the two of them, they actually made decent money, and had bought a neat place not far from Sam and Dean’s. It had a nerdy-chic vibe that Charlie had undoubtedly had most of a hand in, but Jo had outfitted the garage to store most of her blades and targets for throwing. She’d have to figure baby proof the whole place sometime soon, but for now it remained her own little corner of the world she could escape to.

Dean’s real agenda for the evening was to get her alone and talking - and the best way to do that was to challenge her to some knife throwing in her lady-cave. Not that he’s overly thrilled at the prospect of a hallmark moment, but ever since Ellen had pointed out that Jo seemed kinda off, he’d been itching to check himself. Jo seemed tough as nails, but she didn’t do such a great job hiding that gooey center with her family.

And besides, butting into Jo’s life meant Dean could hit the pause button on his mental Cas loop. At least for five minutes.

Charlie wasn’t half the cook that Jo was, but she could make a mean pot of spaghetti. A little spicy, heavy on the beef, and garlic so thick it could kill a vampire three towns over. And Sam was onto Dean’s plan, so he kept her distracted in the kitchen while Dean pleaded with Jo for just one short game.

Jo was - well normal Jo. Exasperated at the suggestion, but agreeable enough. She turned on the lights to the garage and went quietly into her cabinet. It had been a hot day - even in the early evening the air inside the garage was warm and sticky. Dean hit the garage door opener, and a cool breeze swept in.

“I don’t normally open up the garage. Makes my neighbors nervous to see me practicing,” she said, nodding her head once to the house across the street. It was Stepford home perfect, with a lawn that was better manicured than Ellen’s nails and half a dozen motion lights that came on as a few stray cats walked underneath.

“Good, they should be nervous of you,” he said, turning his nose.

“Hey - pick a card, any card.” She handed him a set of playing cards as old as she was, yellowed around the edges and lighter than a new stack. They usually play like this - single card stuck to a thick wood round hanging on the opposite wall. Jo had purchased many professional targets over the years, but nothing was quite as satisfying as the dull thud of metal into wood. He shuffled through, plucking out the king of hearts and handing the rest back to her.

“Little cliche don’t ya think?” But she stuck the old card to the wood anyway. The knives she set out between them were polished silver and so sharp Dean was certain he could split a single strand of hair in two. Jo is a nut about keeping her knives perfect - not unlike Dean with his Baby. Guess it runs in the family.

“Shadup and play. What are we betting?”

Jo shrugged, picking up the first knife and balancing it in her delicate hand. “How about, if I win, you tell me what went down with Dr. Strangelove. And if you win, I’ll let you know what’s bugging me so my mom will get off your case.”

“Hey! She wasn’t-”

“Don’t kid a kidder.” She raised an eyebrow at him and then looked back to the target, stretching her arm back and forth. “You in?”

This wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when he thought to bring her out here. The Spanish Inquisition was supposed to be sailing in her direction only, dammit. “Hardly seems like a fair fight, you being a professional and all.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like loser talk to me, Winchester.”

She wiped the floor with him. That wasn’t a surprise. After all, she’d been the one who taught him to throw knives years ago, and he was years away from the student becoming the master. He did love the feeling of throwing though - balancing the light knife between his fingers, letting it sit in the crux of his thumb. Extending his arm as he let go, watching it sink deeply into the wood fifteen feet away with a satisfying thwack. He managed to land his knife straight in the center of the king of hearts just once. And then never again.

And if that wasn’t the biggest allegory for how his life was going right now….

“Pay up, Mr. Lonelyhearts.” She had a wolfish grin as she crossed the room and began to pull the knives from the wood. “How come we haven’t seen Dr. Novak since karaoke? I thought you two were friends?”

“We were...we  _ are _ ...God, I don’t know.” Dean walked over to the large work table that lined the wall where he’d set his beer. It was still cold, and the condensation felt nice against his fingertips warm from throwing. “He’s going through a divorce, or at least, he was. I think they’re trying again.”

“Oh.” Jo was quiet as she put her knives back in their cabinet. They hung against the wall like tiny deadly decorations. “Well that explains his RSVP.”

“What?”

“To the baby shower. He said he was bringing someone named Meg. I assumed it was a friend.” She closed and locked the little door, turning back to Dean. “Because, you know, he’s gay.”

“He’s bi, actually. You know there are more of us than you think.” Dean grumbled and took another swig. “But yea, that’s his ex-wife. Or wife. I’m not sure. It's been about a month since we talked.”

She smiled gently, picking up her own bottle of beer and taking a sip. “Doesn’t he know that to be friends with Dean Winchester, you should expect to get checked up on at least once a week?”

“Apparently he didn’t get the memo. But I haven’t reached out either.”

She sighed and stretched, pulling her head to shoulder with a crack. “I could ask him not to bring her. I’ll just shoot him a text - it’s really not a big deal.”

“No, no it’s fine. We’re all friggin adults.” He lied. Well, he hoped it wasn’t a lie. He was at least going to make an attempt to not make a scene. For Charlie and Jo’s sake, if nothing else. He mimicked her, cracking his neck. It released a little of the tension in his muscles, and he relaxed just a bit. “So does this mean you aren’t gonna spill what’s bothering you? No chance for rematch?”

She rolled her eyes. “You honestly think another game would make a difference?”

“Who do you think I’m more afraid of, Joanna Beth? You, or your mother?

“Fair point,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You know this is hard for me, Dean. I don’t know why everyone’s making a thing of it.”

“Oh right, I’ll just have everyone stop giving a shit. Send out a telegram.”

Jo snorted. “There’s just nothing that can be done. I wake up every day and watch my beautiful wife create life. I’m jealous, but look Dean - ain’t worth exploring. It’s not like I want to take away from how proud I am of her, of what she's doing for us.”

Dean stepped forward, rubbing his hand down Jo’s arm. She’s got such a tiny frame, he always forgets how rock hard her biceps are. Comes with the job. “No one is saying you aren’t anything but supportive, Jo. Just - we see you hurting and we want to, you know, help.”

“ _ We _ ?”

“Ok, fine, your mom. But once she said something, I noticed.” Dean said. “I see things. I’m aware. And I give a shit, ok?”

“You are a woke bae, Dean,” she said with a smirk.

“Oh God, never, EVER say that again.” Dean pulled his hand away and mimicked holding back a barf, letting his cheeks puff out. Jo laughed, a little of the weight lifting from her shoulders. It wasn’t as if Dean thought he was actually going to solve anything, but she looked better, at least. He pulled her into a hug. She went quietly and he held her close, tucking her head under his chin. She was fierce and strong and Dean was so proud of her, for this and so many things she had done in her life. But his heart ached a little for her too, and he clung tighter, like he could shield her from everything bad in the world.

* * *

Dean had seldom seen Ellen in such a state of fluster. Surly and aggravated, sure - even whilst knee deep in party planning. (One year for Jo’s birthday she forgot “party favors”. Jo was eleven and mortified - so each of her little friends went home with a napkin full of maraschino cherries. Their parents were less than thrilled.) But her nervous energy was distracting - and it almost felt like she thought this was going to be the  _ only time _ she’d ever get to put on a baby shower.

“You know, Sam and I will want you to do this too, when we have families,” Dean grumbled her direction as he pushed a thumbtack into a wall, hanging the last pink paper rattle.

“I know that Dean, and when the time comes I will.” She rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her already fraying hair. “Nothing wrong with wanting this to be perfect for Jo, too. You done hanging those?”

He nodded. “Good,” she said. “Now get your butt in the kitchen and put out those appetizer trays.”

You’d think she’d have invited a small town to the baby shower with the way she was carrying on, but in truth they weren’t expecting that many people. Some co-workers of Jo’s, a few friends from college of Charlie and Sam’s, some Roadhouse regulars that were more like family at this point. Oh and Cas, of course with his (Dean assumed) perfect wife Meg. Dean had been playing it really cool today though, and he’d only had three cups of coffee by 11:00 am.

People began to pour in shortly thereafter, and the dusty space lit up with life. The dark wood of the interior of the Roadhouse was covered in pink paper and tulle and anything else Jody found in the baby section at the Dollar Store. Dean wanted to say something about Malibu Barbie but in truth, between the pink and the midday sunshine pouring in from outside, the place looked downright homey.

He settled in with a mocktail next to Sam. It was a darker pink (a departure from Pepto pink, at least) and had a tiny plastic baby figurine floating in it. He took a preliminary sip and grimaced.

“So, this is basically baby-laden sugar water.” He stuck out his tongue, and Sam huffed a laugh.

“You could always go behind the counter and ‘devirginize’ it, Dean.”

Dean punched Sam’s shoulder. “You sinner, this is a  _ family _ event.”

But he had to admit, a finger of gin paired with the strawberry substance made for a much more enjoyable experience.

He was particularly glad to have a little alcohol on board when he noticed Castiel walking in.

Cas was dressed as stiffly as he walked, in a black polo shirt and grey slacks. His shiny shoes stuck out awkwardly against the dusty wooden floor. Behind him in a vice grip he grasped a woman’s hand - clearly Meg’s. She was less significantly less stiff, practically slithering in her dark skirt and heels. The pair of them looked horrendously mismatched. And not at all like they expected to be attending a po-dunk baby shower on the wrong side of town.

Dean made eye contact with Cas across the room. He swallowed down the way his guts seized, actively relaxing his face. Cas made every attempt to look cool and detached, his blue eyes lidded. But there was something in his expression - a tightness, a hesitation. Dean wasn’t sure if Cas was uncomfortable being at this party, or just with Meg. Either way it made him want to grab Cas by the hand, jump into Baby and leave all of this in their dust as fast as possible.

Instead he just looked away, and took another drink.

Dean was warned that there would be “games” at this party. What he failed to anticipate (and had not been covered in his baby book, much to his disappointment) was how completely ridiculous they would be. First up was some treasure hunting game that had each woman frantically searching through their purses. The women that weren’t nose deep instead chose to dump them out unceremoniously on their table and flail through their objects. But the most confusing part of all? These damn women had  _ all _ of the items. Ketchup, nail clippers, a passport, a package of seeds, playing cards...between the fifteen women, the damn apocalypse could come crashing down outside of the Roadhouse, and they’d be boyscout level prepared. Dean hardly had his licence and more than twenty bucks on him at any given time.

He had to admit - he was pretty impressed.

A winner was declared, and a little prize was given (something wrapped in pink tulle that smelled like cherries) and Dean was so distracted by the women meticulously putting everything back into their purses he didn’t hear Castiel come up behind him. Actually he didn’t hear Cas at all - the first thing he heard was Meg.

“Is this your friend, Castiel?” she said. Her voice was velvet, smooth and articulate. She could work as an emergency operator, it had that sort of calming quality. Except to Dean, it was nails on a chalkboard.

“Yes,” Cas said as Dean turned. He faked a little smile and hoped he seemed friendly as he stuck out his hand. “Dean, this is my wife Meg.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Dean said, taking her small hand in his own. She quirked an eyebrow at him, like she was sizing him up and then shrugged.

“Yes,” she said. She tilted her head towards where Charlie and Jo were nearby chatting. “I hear you’re the meat in their sandwich, so to speak.”

Dean flinched, his stomach flopping. “I guess that’s one way of putting it.”

“Meg-” Cas started, sounding more like an exacerbated parent than a spouse.

From behind him, Sam stood and stuck out his hand, introducing himself. “I’m Sam, Dean’s brother. Oh and also, that little baby’s uncle!” Sam’s enthusiasm is usually contagious, but Meg’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. Cas smiled though and congratulated Sam. 

But he didn’t even look at Dean. There was an ocean of tension between them, and Dean wanted to hit something, or drink. Or both.

“If you’ll excuse us, I want to say hello to Charlie and Jo,” he said, then put his hand on Meg’s tiny waist. Dean bit the inside of his cheek.

“Actually, I’d like to chat more with my new friends - if that’s alright, darling,” she purred. Cas nodded and walked away and Dean didn’t think he’d ever felt more betrayed by anyone in his life. He would rather pull out every strand of his hair one at a time than be next to this woman a second longer. They watched as Castiel made his way to Jo’s side and gave her a big hug.

“So Dean,” Meg smirked, looking him up and down with thinly veiled hunger. “Let me get this straight - you aren’t actually blood related to either of those beauties,” she pointed a red tipped nail between Charlie and Jo, “and none of you thought to maybe save a few bucks, do it the old fashioned way?”

Dean’s stomach flopped - partially from the insinuation and partially because her question was beyond rude. “What!?” he gaped.

She shrugged, turning back to face the girls. “I’m just sayin’, seems like waste of a good time.”

A steady hand landed on Dean’s shoulder before he could speak. “First of all, blood relation or not, those women are our sisters.” Sam said, just this side of containing his anger. “And secondly, they’re gay. As in, they don’t screw men.”

“Just haven’t had the right dick, am I right?” Meg jabbed Dean’s side, and he clenched his fists. He stared straight ahead at Jo. She was lit up from the inside, laughing at something said between herself, Charlie and Cas. Her hand was on Charlie’s belly and she looked happy. Really happy.

There isn’t a chance in hell he was going to ruin today for her. No matter how terrible Meg was.

“Right.” Dean said, ignoring the sound of blood pounding in his ears. “Excuse us. We need to grab something out of the back.”

He made a hasty escape with Sam, the two of them barreling away from Meg as quickly as they could be discreet. Unfortunately they ran straight into Ellen.

“Good timing boys! It’s time for the next game - take a tray.” She shoved a tray full of baby bottles at Dean. He looked down at them, momentarily stunned.

“Are these bottles full of - beer?” he stammered.

Ellen belched under her breath. Her fist pounded gently against her chest. “Yes sir - pass these out. It’s a chugging contest. Tell them we’ll start when I say and  _ no cheating _ !”

He looked at Sam for help, but he just shrugged. He’d really hoped to lay low for the rest of the party and avoid the Novaks. But now he was headed right back into the belly of the beast.

Luckily Sam stepped ahead of him and went to serve Cas and Meg. Thank goodness for hulking baby brothers - he slipped past them and into the rest of the crowd, handing out bottles to attendees. He handed his second to last one without comment to Bobby, who’d sequestered himself to a far off corner where the chattering was down to a dull roar.

“This what I think it is?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“You gonna do one too?”

Dean nodded. “I’ll probably go back for seconds - want me to get another for you?”

Bobby smiled and patted Dean’s shoulder. “See, you’re gonna be a great uncle. You learned from the best.”

“Attention!” Ellen rang that ridiculously large bell Bobby had installed above the bar a few years ago. The crowd fell silent. “You know the drill guys - I ring this bell, you drink that bottle down as fast as you can. When you’re done, slam it down and raise a hand. You have to leave the nipple on! Can’t just take the nipple off and chug it that way….wait...” She paused and put her hands on her hips “Ok, who’s laughing at ‘nipple’?”

In the corner, one of their regulars, Garth, raised his hand, still snickering.

“Dammit, Garth,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Y’all ready?”

Dean’s gaze was drawn to Meg who stood beside Cas a good distance away. She had a little smirk as she raised the bottle to her lips. Her dark eyes suddenly darted and landed on Dean. Her eyebrow raised a little - was she issuing a challenge? Dean squared his shoulders and stuck the nipple in his mouth. She smiled around hers.

The bell rang out.

Game on.

It was surprisingly difficult to chug beer through a tiny nipple. A combination of the air pressure, and the way the beer started foaming when he tossed it back made it feel like all he was drinking was foamy air. The room was uproarious, the people who had decided to sit this game out cheering everyone else on. He kept his gaze locked on Meg, whose eyes never left his, and crinkled at the edges with amusement.

At some point, Cas took notice. Good. Let him see that Dean is better at sucking than Meg is. He’s comfortable with admitting that in this moment, he’s that petty.

Except suddenly Meg took the bottle from her mouth. She slammed the plastic on the table with a loud bang, and then took a deep breath and belched.

“I believe we have a winner!” Ellen called from behind the bar. The rest of the party cheered. Dean finished his beer quietly, and set it down. It was stupid that he was angry, but some part of him felt like he lost a bit more of Cas in that moment. He chanced a glance his way, and he was half smiling at Meg, like her antics amused him.

Maybe Cas was actually happy with her. Despite the fact that she was kind of a bitch.

They took a break from the games to serve more food and then bring out the cake. Dean and Sam sat with Bobby, keeping to their corner, mostly just watching the party unfold. For his part, Cas avoided them, and that was probably for the best - Dean didn’t really have it in him to fake like he was okay or happy with any of this. Sam was just angry enough at Meg’s earlier comment to have zero filter should Meg decide to speak that way again to them. And Bobby, well, Bobby just has such a lovely natural disposition anyway, he really rounded out their group dynamic.

Needless to say, they were left alone. 

But he did keep an eye on Meg. And she drank. Woa, could she put it away. Bottle beer was first of five and she was working on number six as they started up the last game. It was something about measuring around Charlie’s belly with yarn and it seemed like a really poor decision. Because every time Charlie would go up to another party goer, their yarn would either be hilariously too short (“Nope! I’m fatter than that!”) or too big (“Wow, I don’t have twins in here!”) and it just was sort of insulting.

When they approached Meg and Cas, the yarn fit around Charlie’s belly almost perfectly. The crowd started clapping as Jo announced them as the winners, but the celebration was cut short by another woman in the crowd. Dean didn’t recognize her - must be a co-worker of Jo’s. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail and she stood in a little floral dress with her hands on her hips.

“Wait a minute, that’s not fair - he’s her doctor!” the woman said. Her tone was light like she was joking, but she seemed like the type to take these kind of things too seriously. Charlie and Jo looked at each other, and then back at Cas. He grimaced and shrugged his shoulders.

“They’ve probably got a point - I am intimately familiar with your stomach size.” Cas went to grab the little pink prize bag from Meg’s hands, but she pulled it back against her chest.

“Look sweetie,” she said, addressing the blonde woman. Her speech was a little slurred, and she swayed where she stood on her high heels. “No one likes to be the loser at the dyke shower but you’re gonna have to buy your own lilac hand soap, because this one is mine.”

Dean didn’t actually hear a single word after “dyke” and was already on his feet, Sam right behind him. The rest of the party fell silent - even Ms. Blonde play-by-the-rules was so stricken she’d sat down. 

“Meg, let it go...” Cas put his hand against Meg’s back, trying to turn her away from the crowd. His expression was pulled tight and he looked mortified.  

“What?” she sneered, turning up her lip. She pointed a finger at Charlie’s belly and scoffed. “They can’t disqualify us! This little  _ miracle _ in here wouldn’t even have happened if it weren’t for you. Because Dean over there is too gay himself to stick-”

“That’s enough!”

Castiel’s voice shot across the room like a lightening bolt. If they weren’t already frozen before, now the crowd didn’t scarcely breathe, all eyes on where he was huffing beside Meg. Meg looked as if a gnat had flown around her face, not like the full grown man beside her was ready to throw her over his shoulder and toss her out the door. She rolled her eyes mildly as he grabbed her arm.

“Charlie, Jo…” he started, looking up at them, hesitating for a moment like he wanted to apologize but was too angry to form words. Jo had tucked Charlie into her side, her face a tightly drawn mask. She shook her head quietly, disappointment practically seeping from her pores.

“Dr. Novak, get that woman away from my wife.” she said, her voice leaving no room for question.

Castiel closed his eyes briefly and nodded, and drug a drunkenly giggling Meg from the silent room. The door to the Roadhouse slammed shut, and from next to him, Dean saw Sam flinch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: I actually love Meg (and Rachel Miner is an actual angel), and will be writing something later with her in it to redeem myself for making her so terrible in this fic but - it had to be done. Just know I hated it too!


	11. Chapter 11

Dean wasn’t under any illusions that he’d ever hear from Castiel again after that incident. Heck, he’d expected Charlie and Jo to fire him on the spot and get a new doctor. 

“The truth is, we really like him,” Charlie said over dinner a week later. “He’s just been so wonderful during this process, and besides, she’s not our doctor. He called and apologized for her the next day.”

Dean pushed the salad around his plate with his fork, biting the shit out of his tongue. The truth was he wanted everyone he loved to be as far away from Meg as possible. But that “everyone” included Cas which meant two things - one, that his hands were pretty damn tied in trying to get Meg away from her own husband. And two, and arguably more importantly, that Cas had slowly, but solidly, become a member of Dean’s family without him even noticing.

Dean was so fucked.

“Why is Cas even with her?” Sam asked, finishing the last of his slice.

Dean shifted in his seat, letting his hand rest against his cool beer. He didn’t want to talk about Meg, but Sam had given him a lot of space in the last week, hadn’t pushed. It was probably time to talk about it. “They were highschool sweethearts, and all that crap.”

“Sweetheart or not, that woman was vile.” Jo sneered. Charlie reached out and pushed some blond hair back behind Jo’s ear, and then smoothed her fingers down her cheek.

“Babe, we talked about this…”

“I know, I know,” Jo grumbled, shoving pizza into her face. She hardly came up for air the rest of the meal, but that was alright. There was plenty of other things to talk about and anyway, Dean was glad for the distraction. The only thing waiting for him at home was a six pack of beer and a bed full of memories. At least here, at Charlie and Jo’s, he could make himself useful. Tonight he’d put together his niece’s crib. He suspected that the girls could have taken care of it themselves - Charlie is practically a savant with anything from Ikea that comes in eight million pieces - but they kept asking Dean do little things like that for them. It kept his hands busy enough, and his mind on something else.

When he’d finished he’d moved it into the corner of the room. The oak wood looked great against the walls painted in shades of blues and purples. A friend of Charlie’s had volunteered to make the walls look like galaxies, and she’d done a great job. The room had a little bookshelf with some books (but plenty of space for more), a padded rocking chair, and a rug with unicorns and rainbows. Somehow, seeing the crib in place and finally put together with the rest of the nursery made it all feel that much more real and immediate. Charlie was about halfway through her seventh month, and the truth was, the arrival of his niece was just around the corner. The last nine months were such a whirlwind, Dean hardly felt like the same person. And the fact that there was going to be a little girl in that crib soon - he felt his eyes prickle a little.

God, when had he gone so soft?

Work kept him busy enough, for the most part. The school year was starting, and half the kids were exhausted (the other half completely ramped up) by the time they got to him after class everyday. It made for a lot more time out sentencing which had to be Dean’s least favorite part about his job. Besides the endless paperwork.

At least the staff took shifts in manning it. Wednesdays belonged to Dean. He sat in brightly lit classroom with three sullen students. It was the same room he’d taught a cooking class in earlier in the year, and you could still see tiny splatters of marinara sauce on some of the students’ artwork lining the walls. Daniel, Jace and Angelica were normally good kids - well, maybe just Daniel and Angelica. Jace had a good heart, but probably some undiagnosed ADHD. Dean tried to keep him really busy most of the time, and he frowned as he watched the blond kid in the corner kick his legs back and forth. Back and forth. Incrementally increasing the pace. Until the chair started to move with him.

“Jace, that’s enough,” he said calmly. “You’ve got another five minutes in time out. You can move your legs, but not the chair.”

“Sorry…”

“It’s ok.” Dean picked at his nail as he watched the stop timer slowly count down. The three minutes ticked by so slowly, it felt like he could feel time itself crawling slowly into the next second. It’s these moments he’d come to dread - where he was left alone with his thoughts. His treacherous brain liked to conjure images and feelings he’d rather forget. Remembering the heat of Castiel’s breath as they stood nose to nose in argument. The smooth feel of his wrist under Dean’s hand in the coffee shop. The way his face broadcasted one hundred different emotions in a language that Dean seemed to be able to speak from the moment they met. 

Would it ever feel that  _ natural _ with someone else ever again?

Something beeped. It wasn’t the timer. That had three minutes and sixteen seconds left. It was his phone. He ignored it. His shift was over when the timer went off. He could call them back.

Jace started stirring again - the chair squeaked.

“Jace…”

“Sorry, Dean.”

His phone rang again. One minute and seven seconds to go.

“Are you going to answer that, Mr. Dean?” Angelica asked.

“I’ll call them back.”

The timer counted down - twenty seconds, ten seconds, five seconds…..

“Ok guys, time's up - you can go now.” Dean pushed a button on the timer to reset it to zero. The kids got up and stretched, Jace looking towards the window where cars were beginning to line up with parents. “I don’t want to see any of you in here again, is that understood?”

They chorused “Yes, Dean” with melancholy. He really hates this part of his job. He got into this to be the fun teacher, not a disciplinarian. Such a drag.

Shifting in his seat, he stretched to retrieve his phone. Two missed calls, both from Jo. And then a text message from Sam that made him bolt from his seat and rush out the door.

**Baby coming-French Hospital. NOW**

* * *

 

_ Too soon. Too soon. Too soon. _

Those two words looped in Dean’s head as he floored the Impala through the city blocks. It was rush hour, and Dallas freeways are ridiculous, but he knew enough side streets to keep him moving. Even still it took him twenty five minutes to reach the hospital, when he’d clocked himself at a good seventeen minutes before. Not that he’d driven the route a few times to practice for the “big day” before or anything. Ok, maybe just once.

He’d tried to call Sam and Ellen on his way, but hadn’t gotten much of a response. Ellen didn’t answer at all. Sam just said “Just get here” which only added to the dread filling Dean’s stomach.

Truth be told, having read the baby book was a blessing and a curse. He was hoping it would make him feel more prepared. What he didn’t expect was for his brain to turn into WebMD during crunch time. Big scary words rolled around in his head and he grunted trying to remember which one led to premature birth. Was it Braxton Hicks? Something to do with her cervix?

He didn’t even lock his car as he rushed out and into the waiting room. For some reason, 7:00 at night seemed to be emergency rush hour, and there were people everywhere. Sick and unhappy people filled every chair (sometimes two or three, if they were laying down across them). To his left, he heard someone throwing up into what he hoped was a trash can.

“Dean!”

Sam’s voice was like a beacon and cut across the din of the crowded room. He found his family curled up in a corner. Ellen, Bobby and Sam sat grim and restless as Dean made his way towards them.

“Wheres-?”

“Jo’s with Charlie.” Sam said quickly as Dean crouched in front of Ellen. She’d been crying - her eyes were red, and there was a sheen across her forehead like she’d been sweating. Bobby sat closely beside her, and Dean reached out to put his hand on her knee. He turned to his brother.

“Fill me in, Sam.”

“Cas said it’s preeclampsia,” Sam started, keeping his voice low. “It came on really quick - I guess it does that sometimes. Charlie was at work when she just fainted. They brought her here, but they have to get the baby out now or-”

“Castiel is taking good care of both girls.” Bobby interrupted. He wrapped his arm around Ellen, who hadn’t really looked up since Dean got there.

Somehow, the thought that Cas was back there working on Charlie and his niece made him feel so much more reassured. In his mind he pictured Cas like his own personal warrior, fighting a battle to save his family's lives just as hard as Dean would. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t spoken in weeks, or that the way they’d left things was less than ideal. Cas would do anything to save Charlie. Dean knew that in his gut, sure as anything.

And so it was up to Dean to take care of the rest of them. “Okay, okay,” he said as he processed. “When did she go in? Do we have an idea of when we’re gonna hear?”

“She’s been in about an hour,” Ellen finally spoke, her voice wavering. She cleared her throat. “Cas said he’d come out and tell us when he had news.”

Dean squeezed Ellen’s knee. “She’s in good hands, Ellen. They both are. You know that.”

“I know, I know,” she nodded, wiping her eyes. “I just wish I could be back there.”

Dean stood and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Ellen. Bobby hadn’t let go, and Sam joined in - it was a clusterfuck of a group hug, a tangle of limbs and necks at awkward angles. But it was warm, and it was family. And as long as they were all in one place, Dean could briefly fool himself into thinking that he could keep them all safe, if only for this moment.

* * *

 

Dean was on his trip back from getting everyone shitty vending machine coffees when Castiel burst through the double doors into the waiting room. Most of the night rush had died down in the few hours after Dean had arrived, but what few people were still waiting practically jumped out of their seats at the noise.

“Dean!” he barked, rushing to where Dean was balancing four cups between his two hands. “Is that coffee?! Did you drink it?!”

“What? No?” Dean sputtered. “How- wait, where’s Charlie?!”

Castiel seemed to suddenly become aware of his surroundings as he looked around the room. “Don’t drink the coffee,” he said quietly. His eyes caught sight of Ellen, Bobby and Sam in the corner, and he made a beeline.

They were already standing by the time he got there, Ellen pressed against Sam’s side, Bobby’s arms crossed. Castiel didn’t waste any time, and grabbed a cup of coffee out of Dean's hands, taking a swig before he started.

“She’s okay,” Cas said, licking the top of his lip clean of coffee. “Her blood pressure dropped pretty low, but she’s stable now. She’s not out of the woods yet so I’m sorry, but I can’t let you see her.”

“And the baby?” Ellen mumbled.

“We got her out. Your granddaughter has a very low birth weight - she’s three pounds, eleven ounces. But the more pressing issue is that she is very anemic - we think that had a hand with the preeclampsia.” Cas took a deep breath and another drink of coffee before turning to Dean. “Dean, she needs blood, and you have the same blood type-”

“Yes.” Dean didn’t even let him finish, just quietly handed the coffees to Bobby.

“Ellen, I-” Cas looked down for a moment at his coat, then met her eye again. “I’m so sorry for-”

“Cas, none of that is important right now,” Ellen replied. She seemed so much less fierce pressed against Sam, and it broke Dean’s heart. “Go take care of my girls.”

Cas was solemn as he nodded. “Of course.”

Dean followed Castiel through the room and double doors and into the bright interior of the hospital. In here it was bustling with life, the sounds of people talking and things beeping a constant soundtrack. Castiel’s white lab coat billowed behind him like a cape - it made him look like a superhero.

And this moment, with his family's life in his hands, Dean really felt like he was.

“You haven’t had any caffeine in the last four hours?” he asked without turning as they rushed down the hall.

“No - you just drank my coffee.”

“What about tobacco use? Recreational drugs? Alcohol?”

Dean scoffed. “God no - Cas, I work with kids for crying out loud, you know that.”

“Need I remind you of past discretions?” Castiel turned a corner sharply and went into a little room. He pointed at the hospital bed against the wall. “Sit.”

Dean did as he was told, hoisting himself up onto the bed. He watched as Castiel grabbed several instruments from various cabinets, tossing them onto a little mobile metal tray. They landed with loud clangs.

“We’re not seriously doing this now, are we?” Dean murmured, wiping his hand roughly against the crook of his arm, warming up the flesh.

Castiel seemed to finish what he was doing and rolled the tray and the stool across the room quickly. He sat down sharply, pulled on a pair of blue gloves, looked up at Dean and - stopped.

He was quiet for a moment while he looked into Dean’s eyes. Dean could see the strain and stress on his face - the worry lines on his forehead more pronounced, his mouth fallen into a frown. Cas took a breath as he took in Dean like a person stops to appreciate a sunset.

“No, we aren’t,” he said, like a realization. He reached out and grabbed Dean’s hand where it rested on his knee. The latex was strangely cold, but there was a strength in his grip that anchored Dean. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“You’re under some pressure, it’s ok.” Dean said quietly. He’d spent so much time in the last few weeks trying to forget what it felt like to be held in this gaze - but it all came rushing back like a tidal wave. “What do we need to do?”

“I’m going to take your blood - not a lot of it, but I still wanted you near a bed in case you feel lightheaded.” Cas rubbed his thumb along Dean’s hand. “You aren’t afraid of needles, are you?”

“Yep - like a little girl.”

Cas smirked as he let go of Dean’s hand and grabbed the sterile pad from the tray, tearing it in two. The sharp smell of disinfectant filled Dean’s nose. “I know two little girls who are diabetic and don’t even flinch at a needle.”

“Touche.”

“You’ll be fine,” Cas reached up and wrapped a blue rubber strap around Dean’s bicep. He could feel the pressure start to build immediately. Cas’ fingers trailed softly across Dean’s inner elbow. There wasn’t any time to pull away before the goosebumps raised in their wake. Having him so close again - he couldn’t help how his body reached out, reacted to his touch.

“You’ve got great veins.” he murmured distractedly. He reached up with the sterile pad and rubbed the spot hard.

“I bet you say that to all the guys.” Dean said. The banter came so naturally, it didn’t even occur to him until after he said it that it might be a tad inappropriate given the current circumstances - life and death situation and all. Plus, Castiel was still married. As far as he knew.

Still, the joke seemed to amuse Cas at least, who chuckled as he grabbed the needle. He touched the vein lightly again to confirm its location, then looked up again at Dean. From this angle, so close and just a bit lower, Deam could smell that earth and lemon scent that haunted his dreams.

“Dean, keep your eyes on me. And take a deep breath.”

He could get used to taking orders from Cas. Especially when it involved just staring at him. He watched the top of his head, wishing he could thread his hands through that hair. Maybe the way Castiel had when Dean had been so drunk, trying to help him sleep. Castiel’s gentle hands soothed across Deans arm and then - it was done.

“You’re pretty good at that.” Dean looked down as Castiel taped the needle to his arm. Dark red blood flowed through a tube into a bag on the metal tray.

“Thanks - I’m considering using the skill as a profession.”

“Nah, forget drawing blood. Looking at lady bits all day is a way better gig.” Dean flexed his hand a little, then let it rest on his knee. “Ok, how long should this take?”

Castiel glanced up at the clock on the wall. “About fifteen minutes. I’m going to go check on Charlie and the baby. I’ll have the nurse bring you some water - I want you to drink all of it, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m serious Dean,” Castiel stood and pushed the stool against  the wall. The little calm moment between them seemed shattered - and Cas was all business again. “If you feel faint, please lie down. I don’t want-” he paused and sighed, suddenly a little sad. “Just take care of yourself.”

“I’m fine Cas - go. Take care of my girls.”

Castiel looked like he wanted to say something more. And Dean was just fool enough to want to hear it, even in this terrible moment. But he shook his head, and walked out the door.

* * *

 

It was hours before he saw Cas again. Jo finally came out around midnight, her blond hair a frazzled mess, wearing a pair of borrowed scrubs a few sizes too big. She fell into her mother's arms and cried for a while, big heaving sobs that shook her tiny frame. The men could do nothing but watch, and reach their hands out to just rest on the two of them. Dean had this odd sense that the five of them were sort of like the wood of a teepee, all holding the other up, keeping each other from falling too far down.

Jo finally confirmed that the baby and Charlie were okay, but still not out of the woods. They’d both received blood transfusions and were resting. The baby was in the NICU, and was as yet unnamed.

“We thought we had time. She was only thirty weeks along...” Jo croaked, taking a tissue from Sam as he offered it. “I’ve barely spoken to Charlie - she’s been so out of it. Our daughter doesn’t even have a name yet. What if she doesn’t make it and we haven’t even named her?”

“Oh sweety,” Ellen pulled Jo back into her arms and let her cry. “That baby girl doesn’t need a name to be the most loved little thing in the world. She’s strong, like her family.”

Dean didn’t feel strong. Watching the toughest women he knew break down, while he stood by and couldn’t fix a damn thing - he felt like a gust of wind could blow him over.

He sent his family home - well, at least Ellen, Sam and Bobby. Jo could sleep in a crappy little chair that turned into a crappy little bed next to Charlie. And Dean wasn’t going to sleep anyway - he was too amped up. And too afraid that the baby may need more blood and he wouldn’t be here. Despite reassurances from most of the nurses he spoke to.

The hospital at night was very eery. He supposed it was a good sign that it was reasonably empty - no sick people in the waiting room. The lights had been dimmed, creating dark corners and shadows. He wandered aimlessly for a while trying to keep himself awake, and eventually found himself outside of the NICU.

Having only seen babies being born in movies, he was expecting a big window and rows of babies, each with a little blue or pink cap on their tiny heads. That wasn’t what he found. Instead he was met with a heavy door (clearly marked) with a little window. He did try to peek inside, but there wasn’t much to see- drawn cream curtains and a few nurses moving quietly. There were a few chairs directly outsides - and he figured this was as good a place as any to wait.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting - maybe a night nurse would happen by and take pity on him, let him in to see his niece. Mostly he just wanted to feel useful, dammit, but there was nothing to do but wait.

Except a familiar sight startled him out of zoning out.

“You should be resting.” Dean reprimanded gently. Jo pinched her lips together and sat beside him in the wooden chair. She’d changed into some pajamas (Sam has run to their house to pick up a few things earlier), and was wrapped in an old hoodie of Charlie’s.

“I could say the same to you,” she said. “But we’re cut from the same cloth, Dean. Neither of us were going to get any sleep tonight.”

“Yeah but you are going to have to take care of a brand new baby in the morning.” He rested a hand on her knee, which she’d folded up towards her chest.

Jo didn’t reply for a moment, just stared down the brightly lit hall with eyes that didn’t quite focus. “I don’t know when I’m going to take our baby home. But it’s not in the morning.”

“Soon though,” Dean said. Not that he knew. He supposed he could track Cas down for more information (if he was even still around at 2am) but from the look on Jo’s face he knew it was probably a good time to lie, just a little.

“You wanna see her?” Jo asked, turning to look at Dean. Her eyes were bloodshot. “We can’t stay long, but I can see if one of the nurses will let us?”

Turns out, night nurses are pretty courteous. Hard to figure out why, given that they basically take care of cranky sick people all night when they themselves could be sleeping. A nurse named Eileen led them through the heavy door and past a curtain into a larger room. There were about four stations on either side of the room, all metal and plastic trays and softly blinking lights. As he walked past, Dean could see that most of them held tiny humans swaddled in blankets. A few had a yellow light directly over them, but most were sleeping in the otherwise dim light of the room. In the corner another nurse rocked a small baby gently, holding a tube shaped bottle to their lips.

“Here she is,” Jo said, the melancholy draining from her face as her vision filled with her daughter. It was a miraculous moment to witness, and Dean swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. Beautiful seemed like such a dull word to describe the tiny girl - she was nothing short of perfect. Too small, and too pale for sure, but the cutest button nose, and delicate fingers, and a smattering of soft, blond red hair. He wrapped his arms around himself and took in the sight of Jo slowly reaching out to run a finger along her baby's cheek. His niece stirred a little, her lips moving and popping, but her eyes didn’t open.

“Oh, she’s hungry,” Eileen said with a smile. Her speech was a little off but still quiet, and Dean finally noticed a decent size hearing aid tucked behind her ear. He turned so she would see his mouth as he asked if they could feed her. She nodded and took off to gather a few things.

In no time at all, Jo was sitting in a comfortable looking rocking chair in the corner of the room. Dean watched as Eileen placed the baby into Jo’s waiting embrace.

It wouldn't occur to Dean until later that this moment might have been worth filming. Certainly it would be something that Charlie would appreciate seeing. But there was a sense that this moment, while monumentally important, was just one of many Jo would be feeding her daughter in the wee hours of the morning. And it wasn’t to take away from the importance of the first time, but it made Dean feel for once since he got that horrible text message, everything was going to work out alright.

“You know, we talked about Deanna for a name,” Jo said quietly, watching her daughter power through a bottle. That little girl could  _ eat _ .

“Oh God, please don’t.”

“Yeah, the creep factor was too high, even if it is a family name.” Jo said with a smirk. She studied her daughter for a moment before looking up at Dean. Her expression was open, if tired. “I’d read about that instant connection you feel with your child. Well, I didn’t read it, Charlie read it to me. But I didn’t think I would feel that way because she isn’t mine, you know?”

Dean scoffed. “She’s yours where it counts. Biology is crap, Jo - you know that.”

“That’s the thing Dean, it’s not,” she said. “It’s not that I don’t look at her and see Charlie’s nose. Or your lips. And nothing of myself. It’s just that-” she sighed and grinned, all teeth in the low light, “I don’t care. It doesn’t matter who she looks like. She’s just mine. And I’m absolutely, without a doubt, hers.”

Dean reached between them and put his hand on her knee and squeezed. “You’re going to be a great mom, Jo.” He meant that now more than ever. Watching the stress and worry she’d been through since the start of this journey - the infertility, the first insemination not taking, all of the cravings and classes and preparations - and now she’s here, practically under a mountain of it all, worried about the health of the two women she loved most in the world. And looking like she could run a marathon if it was to save either one of them.

Something inside of him broke, and he felt a few stray tears fall down his cheeks. In that quiet moment, just the three of them, in the dead of night, he realized how much he’d grown. This was the first decision he’d ever truly been proud of himself for making.

He escorted Jo back to the room with Charlie when they were done, kissing the top of her head and pulling her close. Some of the tension had left her shoulders and he hoped she’d be able to fall asleep now that she saw how good her daughter was doing. The experience had a profoundly different impact for Dean, however, and he found himself more amped up than before.

“Any place a guy could get a bottle of water around here?” he asked Eileen as she filled out some paperwork at the nurses station.

“Cafeteria,” she said. “Down the hall, turn left, you’ll see the signs.”

“Thanks,” he said. “You want anything?”

She grinned, and the lines around her eyes crinkled. Her hands moved in sign as she answered. “I wouldn’t turn down M&M’s.”

“Done.” Dean gave a little thumbs up and took off down the hall. The clock he past told him it was just after three in the morning. He debated leaving - after all, he felt better having seen his niece and Jo, that they along with Charlie would be in one piece in the morning if he went home to catch a few hours of sleep. He supposed he would, just as soon as he brought that great nurse some candy.

But as he turned the corner to walk into cafeteria there, huddled around a steaming cup of coffee and sitting at a small table, was Cas.


	12. Chapter 12

It was like someone had taken a tiny pin and burst the balloon that had been filling his chest since he left the NICU. Just enough to create a small leak. Easy to patch up so most of the air wouldn’t escape, if he had a mind to. That’s what the sight of Cas sitting in a rickety plastic chair in his light blue scrubs did to Dean.

“Hey,” was the only thing he could think to say, and it stirred Cas enough to get him to look up. Cas took him in like a man dying of thirst and Dean was a full, cold bottle of water.

“Hello Dean.”

His voice was dry, and as Dean drew closer he could see his eyes were red. From crying or from rubbing he wasn’t sure - either way, Castiel looked like he’d been awake for three or four days.

“No offense dude, but you look like hell.” Dean pulled out the chair across from Cas with a screech in the otherwise silent cafeteria. Castiel rolled his eyes, sitting back in his chair and rubbing a hand over his face.

“Occupational hazard,” he grumbled. “I’ve gotten about six hours of sleep in the last three days.”

“Well that would explain it.”

Castiel squinted at the clock on the wall. “It’s late Dean, you should go home and get some rest.”

“No use - wouldn’t sleep anyway. I don’t want to be too far in case-”

“They’re ok,” Castiel leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table. His expression changed - it was as if he’d suddenly forgotten how tired he was and all of his focus was on Dean. Like Dean needed his strength, his comfort and he was just going to give up the last of his reserves to him. “They’re both stable, and in good hands. I promise you.”

“Then why are you still here?” Dean asked.

Castiel shrugged, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. He seemed to be debating with himself, and it made Dean feel restless. Dean wanted in again, to push past this bullshit wall they both had seemed to put up since their talk at the coffee shop. He wanted  _ Cas _ \- unfiltered, raw, bare. The truth of him again.

The words tumbled before he could stop them. “Cas - talk to me.”

Castiel's eyes darted upward, searching Dean’s face. He looked so torn, barely containing something threatening to break free. His left hand moved through his hair and then Dean saw it - or didn’t see it. The ring. His hand was bare. Dean’s stomach tightened.

“I’m afraid if I start talking I won’t stop.” Castiel finally said, biting his bottom lip. Dean couldn’t take his eyes off of those perfect teeth, or the way his tongue darted out after to worry at the spot he’d bitten.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.” Dean tore his eyes away and looked up at Castiel with sincerity.

“I don’t even know where we stand anymore, Dean.” Castiel drew his finger in little circles on the table, tracing around the fake wood pattern. “I thought we had something, but I don’t even know if I can call you friend. Not after the baby shower.”

“That was Meg, not you.” Dean said quickly. God, could Cas have thought he hated him this whole time?

“You should know,” Cas started. “I broke it off that night. For good. There were a lot of issues leading up to that, and I should have never tried again with her-” Cas paused and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Appearing for a moment to recenter himself. “Anyway, that was the last straw. The way she treated you and your family was unacceptable. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“Cas, stop,” Dean reached his hand forward and rested it on Castiel’s forearm. It was warm, and he could feel tight muscles dance under his fingertips. “Let it go. None of us blame you for her actions.”

“But I blame myself!” Cas blurted, his voice raised. “I was so stupid to take her back. Especially because then I pushed you away. I hated losing you…”

“You haven’t lost me, Cas - I’m right here.”

“But don’t you see? I knew!” Castiel couldn’t meet Dean’s eyes, and looked down at the empty table between them. “I knew after I took you home that night that you still had feelings for me. I knew you were going to say something that day, at the coffee shop. And I stopped you because I was clinging to the notion of this white picket fence life with Meg. House, family, kids, perfect job, cookie cutter life.” Cas squeezed his eyes shut. “I was so afraid of the way you made me feel, Dean. You saw me,” he finally looked back up, and opened his eyes. The blue was depthless, and Dean fell into them. “You never wanted me to be anything but myself. And I threw that away. Like it wasn’t the best thing I’ve ever felt.”

Dean had tightened his hand on Castiel’s forearm as he listened, and was now probably on route to leave a bruise. But his heart was beating so loudly in his ears he couldn’t think, couldn’t see anything else but Castiel’s pained expression.

“I was such an idiot, Cas.” Dean reached out his other hand and found Castiel’s, gripping it tightly. “Meeting you - God, for the first time in my life, I felt selfish. For once, I wanted something good just for me. And you-” Dean took a shuddered breath, pressing forward. “Dammit, it's just so  _ easy _ with you. No matter what we’re doing, or where we’re at - I can’t even describe it without sounding like a friggin Nicholas Sparks book!”

Cas snickered, the edges of his eyes crinkling. “I know what you mean. I felt it that first night. That just doesn’t happen.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Dean felt himself smile as well, his grip loosening but not letting go. He took a breath, and let decisive action Dean take over. “I wanna see where it leads us, Cas. If you’re up for it.”

“That's a pretty romantic way of asking me out, Dean.”

“Well don’t let that get around. You’ll ruin my street cred.”

But who was Dean kidding? His cred was long since gone. There was nothing remotely cool or detached about the way he nuzzled into Castiel’s hand as he rested it on his cheek. The warmth spread through the rest of his face, and he felt a little dizzy with it. They sat for a while in relative silence, the only sounds were of their breathing, and outside the door, someone was running a vacuum.

“I was serious you know, about you getting some rest.” Castiel finally said.

“I will if you will.” Dean replied, turning his face to kiss Castiel’s palm. If the kiss was a hair slow or suggestive, it was only because all of that sexual tension between them Dean had so carefully been locking behind a door was kicking it’s way out. He certainly wasn’t expecting anything to happen tonight. But if he was being honest, he just wanted to hold Castiel for a few hours, street cred be damned.

“My house is five minutes from here.” Castiel thumbed at his cheek as Dean smiled.

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

* * *

 

Castiel’s place was probably very orderly and well decorated. It likely had tall wooden bookshelves full of old and new volumes of books, an impressive record collection, and an older but bullet proof turntable. He seemed like the kind of guy that would have a bowl of fresh fruit on the counter.

Dean wouldn’t notice any of that until the next day.

The drive over had been strangely tense - as if outside of the confines of the hospital (which contained a variety of libedo dampners such as gravely ill people and Castiel’s colleagues) the need to be touching the other person grew with each passing minute. Dean’s hand started the drive at Castiel’s knee - by the time they pulled up to the townhome, it was just hitting the top of his thigh.

“I thought we said we were going to rest.”

Dean put the car in park and switched off the ignition. His eyes met Castiel’s in the low street light, searching. The truth was he was ready like a pistol waiting to go off - it might as well have been mid day when he’d gotten ten hours of sleep the night before and was on coffee number three. But Castiel - he’d actually done work today. The grueling business of saving Charlie and his niece’s lives. So he studied the man for a moment before rethinking his plan of action.

“Yeah - rest is good.”

Castiel pulled him by the hand through the darkened house - he didn’t even bother flipping on the lights until they reached his bedroom. It reminded Dean of that first night, only without the feverish need to devour the other - he just wanted to touch Cas. Feel his skin beneath his fingertips give and move.

They didn’t talk - not really anyway. Dean’s phone read four in the morning as he checked the battery and placed it on the nightstand. Cas had turned on his bedside lamp, dull yellow light making their shadows on the wall seem larger than life. He reached for Cas, who stood stiff by his own bed, like he wasn’t sure where to put himself.

But Dean didn’t feel unsure. In fact as he trailed his eyes slowly over the man in front of him, he’d never felt so sure about anything in his life.

He placed a hand on the hem of Castiel’s scrub top. “May I?” he asked, quiet and delicate. Castiel nodded wordlessly, raising his arms above his head. Dean pulled the worn cotton from his skin, and then the white undershirt warm with wear. Seeing the tanned flesh of Castiel’s chest was a wonderful relief. Dean let his hands trail down the front of his chest, following the curve of his ribs and around back to pull him into an embrace.

Castiel went willingly as if he’d been waiting all night to be in Dean’s arms. He slumped against him as Dean ran careful fingers into the tense muscles in his back. They were knotted and tough, and Dean took his time pressing and massaging the flesh.

“You don’t need to do that.” Castiel’s mouth was pressed so hard into his shoulder, he could barely make out the words.

“I wanna take care of you,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his head. He pulled back just enough to hook two fingers into Castiel’s waistband and start to tug downward. Dean kneeled with the task, following the pants to the floor, touching Castiel’s calves gently to help him step out of the pants. He felt so serene, in the dead of night, slowly stripping Castiel of all his outside obligations, down to the very heart of him. Without the scrubs and the labcoat and the everything he was just - Cas. Dean pressed soft kisses on the strong thighs in front of him and then stood.

“Now lay down,” he ordered gently, and finally,  _ finally _ , Castiel’s face broke into a relaxed smile. It was sleepy and somewhat less toothy than normal, but still brighter than the moonlight pouring through the windows.

Dean stripped himself as Castiel watched, ever observant. He should feel in that moment a bit put on display, especially since this was only the second time he’d been naked around Cas. Instead his gaze only served to poke at the coals of the fire still burning inside his chest. His gaze was a promise of the future - but for now, after the events of the last fifteen hours, they were both far too exhausted to take it much further.

And so Dean pulled Castiel close, coaxing him to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder. With his free hand, Dean continued to massage at his back and neck muscles, feeling them grow incrementally looser as they lay quietly. If he could do nothing else for Castiel tonight, he could at least help him to sleep.

* * *

 

There's a state of mind between waking and sleep where your body feels as light as a feather. And every sensation is heightened as you focus on it singularly - the smell of sunshine through a window pane. The feel of soft cotton sheets beneath your cheek. The sound of Led Zeppelin playing gently from another room. The warmth of a body tucked against your back.

Dean wakes slowly from a deep sleep. Smooth lips kiss along his nape, hovering then touching lightly, as if Cas is afraid to wake him. For a moment, there is only this - the quiet realization that he’d woken up in Castiel’s arms. After wanting this, wanting  _ him _ so badly for so long, he basked in the knowledge, stretching like a cat against Castiel. There was no question he could get used to this. For the rest of his life.

And then a phone chimed. Might have been his. But it was enough to break the spell, and real world thoughts came crashing into his consciousness. Charlie - the baby - the hospital - NICU - his family.

His eyes shot open.

“Relax,” Castiel whispered. He tightened his arms around Dean, and pressed his nose against his neck. “I already called the hospital. Charlie is up and eating breakfast. Winnie should be released from NICU in a few hours. I told them we’d be in around that time.”

All of his statements registered on a five second delay for Dean, which wasn’t uncommon for his brain before coffee. But the second to last sentence drew his thoughts to a halt.

“Winnie?” he repeated, his voice scratchy.

“Jo said they named her,” Cas said. “It’s actually Adira Winnie Harvelle-Bradbury, but they said she is going to go by Winnie. As in, Winnie-chester.”

Oh God. That is somehow absolutely adorable and cringeworthy at the same time. Dean couldn’t help the groan that escaped. “My niece's name is a  _ pun _ ?”

Castiel chuckled. It was such a wonderful sound. So was the feeling of being in his arms. And now that he had reassurances that his family was, at least for now, on the mend, he could attend to more pressing matters.

Mainly, that he had a nearly nude gorgeous man he’d been pining after for almost a year curled up behind him.

“So, no one is expecting us for a while?”

“Nope.”

“And you’re not married?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re interested?”

Castiel moved his hips so they were slotted against Dean’s ass. “Very.” he punctuated, as it if needed clarification. “And you’re not afraid of having a relationship now that you’ve got a very unique niece in your life?”

“Not as long as it’s with you,” Dean murmured. He reached back and palmed Castiel’s hip, grasping it tighter against himself. Cas let out a short gasp.

“Well now that we’ve gotten all of that out of the way,” Castiel trailed his fingers down Dean’s arm. Despite the pleasant warmth of the room, Dean felt goosebumps of anticipation in their wake. “You want to join me in the shower?”

“Fuck yes.”

Castiel’s bathroom was fairly good sized and reminded Dean of his office in shades of bamboo and wood. The shower itself was encased in glass, the bottom lined with pebbles. He might have wanted to comment on how nice it all was (especially in contrast to his own rented house) but he couldn’t find words as he watched Castiel pull off his boxer briefs and turn on the water.

“Did you put Zeppelin on this morning?” Dean asked, if only to distract himself from the way Castiel’s tan skin looked positively sinful in the early morning light.

Cas looked a little sheepish as he reached in the shower and tested the water. “You said you were a fan, so I thought it would be a nice way to wake up…”

“I don’t think anything could top waking up with your boner pressed against my ass.” Dean stripped the rest of the way down. Castiel shamelessly, luxuriously, looked him over from head to toe like he was ravenous. He seemed to search for words for a moment, and then not finding them, instead grunted and pulled Dean into the shower.

They stood for long moments under the hot water, kissing, touching, basking in the heat of it all. Castiel took Dean’s earlobe into his mouth and bit gently, letting his hands press against the muscles in his back. Dean sighed and let his head fall back into the water, spraying his hair down. It was equal parts serenity and excitement to be in Castiel’s arms like this - like at any moment they could turn the heat up and rut against each other like animals. But neither seemed to be in any hurry - they’d been waiting so long to just feel the other’s skin, breathe the other's scent.

“How do you want this, Cas?” Dean kissed against his neck. The truth was he’d take Castiel any way he wanted, but he was aching to feel Castiel deep inside himself. As close as he could get.

Castiel moaned, which wasn’t really a response per say, but it did make Dean’s toes curl against the rocks. “Wanna take care of you,” he grunted out finally as he threaded his fingers into Dean’s hair. Dean, who was now biting a spot on his collarbone, let out a moan himself as Castiel gripped tighter. “Like you took care of me last night.”

“In that case,” Dean kissed back up to his neck, and licked the shell of his ear. “I want you to fuck me. That okay?”

“God yes,” Castiel moaned and reached down suddenly, grabbing Dean’s ass and rutting against his leg. Dean was already impossibly hard between them, and somehow managed to not come immediately as Castiel leaned in to kiss him with gusto. Everything at once became tighter, rougher, more urgent, and that was absolutely perfect. Dean was swimming in sensations - the pounding of water, the feel of the blood pooling in his bottom lip as Castiel sucked it, somewhere in the background “Whole Lotta Love” was blasting.

Cas pulled away for a moment and reached to a little shelf. The familiar snap of a lube bottle snapped Dean’s attention back and he watched as Cas looked him over carefully.

“I want you here, Dean.” He grabbed both of Dean’s shoulders, directing him under the spray. “Put your leg up here,” he hitched a hand under Dean’ leg and holstered it up onto a little shelf. Cas looked behind him at the shower head, then grinned a little mischievously. He reached around Dean and seemed to fiddle with the controls and suddenly - the shower above Dean’s head was going at half strength, but a spray of water hit his lower back. In fact, if Dean stretched a bit forward, it was hitting right at-

“Oh god,” Dean murmured, closing his eyes for a moment, letting the sensation of the water pounding against sensitive nerves take over. Suddenly Castiel was close and then was circling him intimately.

“Is that good?” Castiel asked. As if the tiny mewling moans Dean was letting shamelessly escape would indicate otherwise. Dean nodded enthusiastically anyway, finally opening his eyes. At this angle they were about eye level, any difference in height now gone due to Dean shamelessly sticking his ass at the spray of water. He felt so wanton, and needy and dammit that was somehow even more intoxicating. Their eyes met and locked. Cas was doing that observing thing again, like Dean was under a microscope, but somehow it only made Dean feel even more powerful. That this intelligent, strong, amazing man wanted to focus all of his attention on Dean’s pleasure - he felt like he could take on the world.

“God you’re so hot,” Dean surged forward and kissed him, wanting to be filled with Castiel in every way possible. Cas kept up, probing his tongue and his fingers in time, pulling away only for the space of a breath before quite suddenly dropping to his knees.

“I need-” was about as far as Castiel got before taking Dean into his mouth. It was a straight up goddamned miracle that Dean didn’t come on the spot. He yelped and keened, leaning forward and gripping onto dark, wet hair tight enough to draw a moan. He knew he’d probably hurt Castiel with the pull, but it only seemed to spurn him forward. Cas licked and sucked and kept his fingers moving like a friggin sex god.

“Cas - babe, please-” Dean moaned and finally pulled back a little roughly at Castiel’s hair, just to get him to slow down. “I don’t - I’m gonna come if you-”

“I want you to,” Castiel licked the water dripping off Dean’s dick. “I want to taste you. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to taste you, Dean?”

“I thought - we were gonna-” Dean managed to choke out as Castiel swallowed him down. Literally, took him into his mouth and fucking swallowed. Something in the back of Dean’s brain was really, really damn angry he’d waited almost a year before giving into this. He was amazed at how good they were in the sack together after that first time but Jesus - now he can see that Cas had been holding back. This was the man with the chains really off.

“Oh, I’m going to fuck you. But first I’m gonna watch you come.” Exploratory fingers picked up their pace, stretching and scissoring and Cas licked a stripe up Dean’s balls. “Sound good?”

Dean couldn’t answer with words. And anyway, it wasn’t like there was actually a question if Dean wanted to come so hard he couldn’t see straight. So he just found a place for his hands - one gripping a metal handle on the side of the shower to keep himself upright, the other holding onto Castiel’s hair like they were the reigns to a bucking bronco - and hang on for dear life.

He came with a shout, watching his dick disappear into that beautiful mouth, with Castiel teasing at his prostate with three fingers. His entire body felt tingly and numb - he barely had the presence of mind to keep a good grip on the shower door to keep himself upright. But it was beautiful and so fucking right - Castiel touched and tasted him like Dean was made for him alone.

Castiel pulled off his dick and smiled, licking his lips. If Dean had anymore left within him the sight alone might have set him off. Instead he watched as Castiel stood and kissed him hard. He could taste himself on the back of his mouth and he cursed refractory periods and the stupid, stupid way men’s bodies are set up.

“Turn around,” Cas ordered gently. He helped Dean of course, considering that Dean’s muscles had the consistency of wet spaghetti. He basically turned and put himself into the same position, leg up on the shelf and stuck out a little bit, facing away from the spray of water. Castiel hummed and gripped the muscles tightly. He ran his thumb along Dean’s rim and stuck it inside, pulling a little at the skin. Dean cried out against the wall, wanting at once to give into the overwhelming sensations and shy away from them.

“Cas, please-”

“Sorry, just appreciating the sight,” Cas chucked. Behind Dean the sound of the bottle made him shudder, even under the constant heat of the water. His mind had narrowed to the single desire and then Castiel was pressing hard against him.

He gasped, clutching his left fist under his head, reaching around to grip Castiel’s hip with his right. Castiel entered slowly, slowly - either to allow time for Dean to adjust or keep himself from coming immediately, he wasn’t sure. But Dean could feel every hot inch of him as he relaxed. A moan escaped as he felt Castiel’s hips come to rest at the flesh of his ass.

“Jesus, you’re tight. I’m not going to last long…” Castiel grunted. Dean turned his head to get a good look at him and fuck, he was  _ wrecked _ . Dark hair curling down his forehead, mouth slack, eyebrows narrowed. He grasped at Castiel’s hand, moving it up further on his chest to rest at his shoulder. Castiel got the hint - he leaned forward, draping himself over Dean, pulling his arms under and over his shoulders. Cas took a deep breath, kissing the knots of Dean’s spine.

“I don’t care - just fuck me, Cas.” 

He was in a vice, caught between Castiel’s rotating hips and his tightly wrapped arms. Kisses turned into grunts and Cas let go, thrusting into him again and again with unfiltered abandon. Dean floated away with the sensations, his prostate getting hit over and over and over. He cried out with the oversensitivity but rode it anyway because damn, it was worth it to hear and feel Castiel lose his damn mind. Everything in his universe was Cas and it was perfect.

“Come for me Cas - come for me.” Dean begged, squeezing a little on the incoming thrust, knowing how amazing that felt, desperate to feel Castiel let go. And then he was spent, yelping between Dean’s shoulder blades, his hips relentlessly pumping as he released. He slowed gradually with a shudder, easing himself out of Dean and staggering back to lean against the wall. 

The water was beginning to cool now, which was just as well seeing as Dean’s entire body felt like it was on fire. Castiel was still open mouth panting, his eyes closed tightly, looking almost broken. Dean surged forward, a sudden rush affection and protection drawing Castiel into his arms. He kissed the top of his head, his temple, his face. Moved his body a little to the left and let the cool spray hit his stomach. Castiel’s eyes opened again as Dean washed him intimately.

“That was-”

“Yeah.” Dean smiled and cupped his cheek. Cas’ expression had turned from wrecked to blissed out the more he stared at Dean. A novel's worth of sappy things sprang to his mind, and Dean barely kept himself in check. Instead, he let his lips part to a cocky smile and simply said, “We should do that again sometime. Maybe more than once a year.”

“I’ll see if I can pencil you in.” But now Cas was smiling too, his eyes shining. “But we really should get going to the hospital.”

Real life issues slowly trickled back into Dean’s consciousness as he came completely down from his endorphins - but not nearly as harshly. His girls were safe. His family was safe. And Cas - for now, for the foreseeable future - Cas was his.

“Oh, we gotta stop at the store on the way,” Dean said suddenly, remembering an important detail of last night. Cas looked confused, but Dean just smirked. “I owe a nice lady some M&Ms.”

* * *

 

Dean didn’t anticipate just how much relief he’d feel at the sight of Charlie sitting up. He paused at the door to take it all in - her rusty colored in a messy bun, rosy cheeked, smiling. The cotton gown she wore hung off her shoulder, and at her breast a tiny, wiggling baby wrapped in a blanket was nursing. 

Beside her, Jo was practically glowing, her own hair pulled back, looking comfortable in jeans and a hoodie. She could scarcely take her eyes off the sight in front of her, except to briefly smile up at Dean.

“Well, look who’s awake,” she teased. “Nice of you boys to join us.”

Castiel was already flipping through a computer screen near the corner of the room after saying his hellos, humming to himself over Charlie’s charts. Dean finally found his legs and came the rest of the way inside, pulling up a chair to sit next to Jo. “You were in good hands. I was just making sure your doctor was well rested.”

“Mhm - I’m sure that's why you two look so relaxed - ow! Winnie!” Charlie looked down with a raised eyebrow at her daughter. “Damn she’s got some strong suction!”

“I’m going to resist the urge to say something about her genes, but only because I don’t want to embarrass Cas while he’s trying to be professional,” Dean said, turning to wink at the man in question, who was now approaching the bed. Cas rolled his eyes, but grinned all the same.

“Charlie, your vitals are looking great,” Cas said, moving to the opposite side of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Honestly, a little like Han Solo,” she looked gingerly down at her stomach where the gown hid her cesarean section scar, and back up with a shy grin. “Too soon?”

“Always too soon, Charles.” Dean said.

“I’d like to examine you myself, if that’s okay,” Cas said. “But you’re going to need to hand Winnie off to one of them for a moment - if she’s done.”

“I’m still trying to get the hang of this, but she’s been going at this boob for fifteen minutes. I guess she’ll let us know if she's still hungry.” Charlie pulled Winnie away slowly as if she were a tiny, pink blanket wrapped bomb. She might as well have been, but instead she just sort of shifted and cooed. It was a little anticlimactic.

“Dean? Would you like to?” Charlie said, her face breaking into a huge smile. 

Dean tried to keep himself together. He really did. His hands weren’t shaking as they reached out, and he was careful to steady his breath so no one would really see how incredibly emotional he was. After all, he had a rep to keep up. The bundle in his arms was so light - it was almost hard to think of it as an actual living, breathing person. A person that he helped make.

Winnie didn’t open her eyes, but he was prepared for that. What he wasn’t prepared for was how time seemed to stop when he looked at her face. How simply perfect she was, in every conceivable way. All of the rest of the world faded to the background and there was just this tiny human with untold potential, that will grow up in a family he worked so hard to keep together, and loved so much.

In just under a year, his understanding of what family truly was had grown exponentially. He let himself for a moment picture the future - taking Winnie for rides in the Impala, watching her try her first burger. Filling her with sugar and sending her home to her mother's. Watching her learn about the world, stumbling through life. There’s so many things he wants to teach her, he doesn’t even know where to start. His could scarcely breathe, his heart was so full. His fingers fiddled with the soft blanket framing her face, rocking her back and forth.

“You’re oscillating.” Suddenly Cas was beside him, next to the big bright window towards the opposite end of the room. In the sunshine his eyes were the color of the sky and shining. “You’re a natural.”

And that future he saw with Winnie, he realized as he looked up, included Cas. Cas next to him in the Impala, turning so he could see the joy on both of their faces. Cas showing her how to eat a french fry. Cas yelling at Dean for buying too much candy (but sneaking a few pieces himself). Cas just in his life, for the rest of it.

A little overcome with emotion, Dean leaned forward and kissed Castiel softly.

“You know,” he said quietly. “Off the record, that white picket fence crap you’ve heard so much about? I’ve heard it can happen with two dudes.”

Cas smiled so big, it nearly made Dean’s heart stop.

“I’m counting on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote, folks :) Thank you for reading! If you would like to take a second and tell me what you thought, I'd love to hear from you!


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